The Many Hats of Dr McCoy
by AshleyAficionado
Summary: A list of things that Leonard McCoy is most definitely not.
1. Not a друг (Part One)

Not a друг (Part One)

McCoy sat at the desk in his office examining the completed inventory list he'd just been handed, wanting nothing more than to break out the bourbon he kept hidden in his bottom drawer. It had been a long day. There was a knock at his door.

"Doctor?"

He looked up at the sound of the hesitant, thickly-accented voice. The ship's 18 year-old navigator stood in the door way, looking at him. McCoy was on his feet the instant he laid eyes on the kid. Being a doctor meant that he was trained to be able to visually assess his patients in a matter of seconds, read their unspoken words and anticipate. And the brief look he had just given Chekov was enough to cause several red flags to flare in the doctor's mind. The kid wasn't standing in the doorway so much as he was leaning in it; one hand grasping the frame as if he was afraid he would fall without the support. His face was covered in a layer of sweat and his eyes were fever bright. The hand that wasn't clutching the wood in a death grip was firmly wrapped around his stomach. McCoy reached him and put the ensign's arm around his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asked as they made their way to the nearest bed. He looked around wildly to find Chapel, gesturing for her to come help when he caught her eye across the room. He gently helped Chekov lay down on the bed as Christine joined them.

"I do not feel so well," the Russian groaned, his face scrunched together in pain as he tried to curl in on himself. McCoy took the scanner his head nurse was handing him and began to run it over him.

"I kinda already figured that, Chekov," he said absently. The ensign made no notion that he had heard him as suddenly pushed McCoy's hands away, turned to the edge of the bed, and threw up. McCoy jumped back, but not quick enough: his shoes were now covered in the mess. Christine rushed forward and helped Chekov aim toward the basin in her hands. Finished, he fell back against the bed.

"I am very sorry, Doctor," he mumbled, his eyes slipping closed. McCoy placed his hand on the kid's forehead, feeling the heat radiating there. McCoy sighed.

"It's alright, kid," he said gently to the shivering form before him. He asked Chapel to get him a new pair of regulation boots before setting to work.

"McCoy to Bridge," he said tiredly into the intercom. He'd finally gotten Chekov under control, changed his shoes, and decided it would probably be best to let Jim know what was going on.

"Bones, what's up?" Jim's cheerful voice sounded a few seconds later.

"Jim, we have a very sick Russian on our hands," he said simply. There was a pause from the intercom and McCoy could almost feel the smile slip from Jim's face, even if he was on the other side of the ship.

"Is he ok?" Jim asked, his voice tight.

"Yeah, for now. He decided to ruin my shoes, though." McCoy replied, idly thinking about how long it had taken to break-in those boots.

"What?" Jim asked distractedly.

"Nothing," he answered. "He'll live, Jim. He's just got a stomach bug, plain and simple," McCoy had been surprised to find that that was his diagnoses; a normal, non-space related illness. Those were so rare on his ship that it was a nice change of pace. He quickly had stopped being so happy about it when he watched Chekov struggle through another puking episode. "He'll be miserable for a few days but, come this time next week, he'll be perfectly fine."

"Good to hear. Keep me updated?" Jim asked

"Yeah, Jim, will do. McCoy out."

"Dr. McCoy?" Sulu called, his voice echoing in the empty Medbay. Uhura was standing next to him, her hands wringing. Before he could call again, the doctor appeared from the back room, eyebrow raising at the sight of the two of them.

"Lieutenants," he greeted them, "what can I help you with?" Uhura and Sulu shared a nervous look.

"We were wondering if maybe we could sit with him for awhile," Uhura said finally, not thinking she'd need to elaborate on who _him_ was. She and Sulu waited while the doctor eyed them wearily for a moment before nodding.

"Alright," he said, "but I reserve the right to kick you out anytime I please." The two bridge crewmen smiled in relief. After hearing McCoy's brief talk with the Captain, the two were extremely worried for their sick coworker and had wanted to come see him right away. They thought better of it, though, thinking the doctor would need more time to treat him. They waited until their shifts were over and their replacements had arrived on the bride before heading here. The Captain had been here earlier, but, of course, he was the Captain and got away with a lot more than they could, especially with the ship's CMO. They had been worried the doctor wouldn't let them in, not wanting them to disturb Chekov. But he had and, though he'd put a threat in with his acceptance, his soft eyes had let them know he hadn't meant it to frighten them. He led them over to the one and only occupied bed, where their friend was fast asleep. Sulu and Uhura stared down at him, both taken aback by the fact that, though they had thought that it was impossible, Chekov looked even younger than usual.

They were used to bright, exuberant Chekov who was so excited by life he practically glowed. Now, his face was pale and he was covered in a heavy pile of blankets. Dr. McCoy checked a few readings on the machines around him before stopping and standing next to Sulu.

"Poor kid's thrown up more in the last three hours than I have ever seen in my whole life," he informed them quietly, looking sadly down at Chekov. Sulu winced in sympathy.

"I'll get you guys some chairs," McCoy said, leaving and returning moments later with a couple of hard, plastic chairs. They thanked him and sat down. The doctor had turned to leave when Chekov's eyebrows had suddenly knitted together, his face pinching painfully. The doctor quickly grabbed a large basin sitting nearby, approaching the head of the bed. Sulu and Uhura quickly stepped back to give him room. They could see that Chekov's lips were moving now, speaking quietly in Russian. McCoy sighed at set the basin down.

Sulu and Uhura watched the scene sadly before flinching when Chekov sat up suddenly in the bed, his words becoming loud and agitated. Uhura wished in that moment that she knew even a little Russian, thinking it might calm him. McCoy was there instantly, pushing gently on Chekov's shoulders.

"Вы в порядке," the doctor replied firmly. Uhura looked sharply at him. Since when had he spoken Russian? She turned to look at Sulu, and seeing both his eyebrows were raised as he stared in shock at Dr. McCoy, confirmed that he as well had been unaware the doctor spoke Russian.

"Где я? Где мать?" Chekov slurred, weakly trying to push McCoy's hands away. After McCoy succeeded in getting him horizontal again, he looked back at the other two.

"He's delirious from the fever. He thinks he is back home," he told them, his eyes sympathetic. He turned back to Chekov who was trying to sit up again.

"отпустите!" Chekov called feebly.

"Я не могу сделать это, парень," McCoy said, keeping Chekov where he was with a hand on his shoulder. Finally, Chekov stilled, his eyes shutting and his breath deepening. McCoy turned around, satisfied the kid was okay for now, to see Sulu and Uhura staring at him, twin looks of shock on their faces.

"What?" he barked, glancing to make sure his tone hadn't woken the sleeping Russian.

"You speak Russian?" Uhura asked

"да," he replied distractedly over his shoulder has he headed back to his office. They didn't hesitate before following him, wanting an explanation. He stopped and turned to them. Uhura crossed her arms, letting him know they weren't leaving until they heard the story. He shook his head and glanced skyward. The entire crew had seen that look many a times. To Sulu, it was the doctor's way of asking for the patience from some unknown force.

"My grandfather spoke Russian," he explained to the duo. "When I'd go over to his house in the summer he taught me. Thought it would be something we could share. Not that it is any of_ your_ business," he added sharply. Uhura looked satisfied with his explanation and nodded. Sulu looked at him, a smiling tugging at this lips at the idea of the doctor has a kid.

"Does the Captain know?" he asked McCoy. He nodded

"This old Russian woman taught a class we had together at Starfleet. I would speak Russian to her all the time and it drove Jim nuts, especially when I got a better grade in the class than him," he smirked at the memory but quickly turned it into a scowl "Now, if you two don't mind, I actually have work to do."

"Does Chekov know?" Uhura asked before he could leave

"No. It never really came up," McCoy replied "and I highly doubt he'll remember now." She gave him a curious look.

"I think you should tell him. I think he would love that," she said, smiling. Sulu nodded, thinking of the look on the young navigator's face if he had someone to talk with in his native tongue. McCoy looked at the two, thinking, for a moment before turning and striding into his office. Sulu and Uhura went back to sit with their friend.

After a week, Chekov was good as new. And, like McCoy had predicted, made no indication of his remembering the words he spoke to him during his fever dreams.

The next time McCoy got an opportunity to speak Russian with Chekov, however, it was a moment he'd be unlikely to ever forget. In fact, everyone in the transporter room that day when McCoy was called to meet the returning away party, was likely to have that moment seared firmly into their brains forever.

There was blood covering Jim, Spock, and Chekov when they materialized onto the platform. McCoy quickly realized, though, that neither the Captain nor First Officer was injured. Chekov was supported between, the kid letting out a blood curling scream when they tried to take a step. McCoy ran quickly up to them, not needing to pull out his scanner to see what was the matter. There was a large, jagged piece of wood, about three inches in width, piercing Chekov's side right about his hip. It went clear to the other side of him and Spock and Jim were carefully to avoiding jostling it as they helped McCoy sit Chekov down. They couldn't let him lay down because of the wood currently sticking out his back, so they just let him lean his left, uninjured, side against Jim. Every motion, no matter how small, caused the kid to scream. It was a horrific sound for any of them to listen to. McCoy wanted to give him a sedative to knock him out so they wouldn't have to hear it, but he needed to assess Chekov before he did that.

"Chekov, can hear me? I need you to hold still!" McCoy shouted. The kid didn't seem to hear him. He continued to thrash his head around, yelling curses in Russian that, had he not been so preoccupied, would have made McCoy's ears redden. When Chekov failed to answer his calls for the third time, McCoy put his hands on either side of the kid's face, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Стоп. не двигаться или вы ушибете. Просто успокойтесь и все будет в порядке," he said calmly and with authority. Chekov looked at him with wide eyes but slowly nodded, turning his head into Jim's shoulder as McCoy began examining the branch currently sticking out of him. 3 minutes later he was done with his examination, Chekov managing not to move for the entirety. McCoy reached into his pack and pulled out the sedative and pushed it against Chekov's neck. The kid instantly sagged, only the gentle hold of Jim's arms preventing him from falling backwards. McCoy stood up.

"We need to get him into surgery, now!" he barked. The nurses rushed forward with a gurney and they began to slow process of lifting him up there. He spared a glance back as they left the transport room, Jim meeting his eye and giving him a quick nod before they rounded the corner.

The next time it happened, thankfully, was a lighter occasion. No blood loss or fever or ruined shoes. Just a bruised ego.

Pavel Chekov liked to think he was a patient person. He was always respectful to his authority figures and kind to those around him. But, today, his patience and kindness were being tested by the cocky engineering officer who had sat down next to him in the cafeteria, where Pavel had been enjoying a quiet lunch by himself. The officer, a Lieutenant Kreft, was taking it upon himself to critique the equation Pavel had shown Scotty earlier that he thought might help sub-space transitive problem the Scotsman was working on.

"I mean, it was a good effort, kid, but maybe next time leave it to the engineers," Kreft laughed, rubbing Pavel's head condescendingly. The lieutenant finished his lunch and left, leaving a fuming, red-faced Navigator behind.

"Возможно, если бы ты не был таким идиотом жира, я не должен был бы сделать вашу работу за вас," he muttered darkly, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down where the lieutenant had made it stick up. To his complete chagrin, a hearty chuckle sounded behind him. He turned and saw Dr. McCoy standing there with a tray of food, staring at him with a wide smile.

"I don't think that is a good way to address a superior officer, even if it is true," the doctor teased. Pavel felt his face redden. Dr. McCoy sat down at the table beside him, still smirking.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. McCoy shook his head.

"Chekov, it's alright. No one heard you but me and, as I happen to agree that that guy is fat idiot, I'm not going to say anything," McCoy told the Russian, making the kid's face brighten. Ever since the away mission gone horrible, he had yet to ask the doctor how he became so fluent in Russian. He had wanted to on many occasions, but felt it was inappropriate. Now, the two sitting alone, he felt it was okay to ask.

"Dr. McCoy?" he started. The doctor looked up from his lunch. "Where did you learn Russian?" The doctor smiled lightly and told Pavel all about his grandfather. Pavel had smiled at the stories the doctor told, laughing occasionally.

"I think I would have liked to meet him," Pavel said quietly. McCoy looked at him a moment, contemplating, before smiling.

"I think you would have, too," he said. The spent the rest of lunch in companionable silence.

Since that lunch, McCoy and Chekov made sure that whenever they spoke to each other, it was in Russian. They would occasionally eat meals together in which no one else would join their table because the two would be too engrossed in a conversation to translate for the others. When Pavel had gotten a letter from his little sister who was just learning how to write, he had stopped by Medbay to share it with McCoy, the two of them laughing good-heartedly at the rough quality. And when Pavel's parents had come to visit the ship on the Navigator's 19th birthday, McCoy was there to keep them company while the kid had finished his shift on the bridge.

There was the time McCoy came up to visit the bridge and had got in an argument with Jim he had turned and muttered "придурок" , loud enough for everyone to hear. Chekov had quickly covered his mouth to stifle his laugh as the Captain had turned quickly to look at him.

"Bones, what did you just call me?" the Captain had snapped angrily.

"Nothing, Jim," the doctor replied innocently. The Captain glared at him but eventually turned around his chair back.

"мудак," was Dr. McCoy's quiet voice a few moments later. Pavel, again, was forced to cover his snicker.

"Dr. McCoy, aren't you supposed to be working?" the Captain snapped. McCoy smirked.

"Sure thing, маленькая сука."

Pavel hadn't been able to control his laughter as the doctor strode off the bridge.

"Mr. Chekov, back to work." Pavel instantly sobered up, turning back to the screen in front of him.

"Aye, Captain."

* * *

"Bones, you sure you're going to be alright?" Jim asked him. McCoy didn't answer him. He merely took another long breathe before looking at Scotty.

"Energize," he barked. And he looked at Jim's worried, anxious face one last time before he closed his eyes against the brightness of the transport beam that he could feel slowly engulfing him. He ignored the rising nausea and panic at the thought that his molecules were currently being scattered throughout space, and tried to remain focused. He had to keep it together. Chekov was depending on him and he was damn sure he wasn't going to let the kid down.

Chekov was…lost. Separated from the rest of the landing party on the planet below. Wherever he was, his signal was too faint for the ship's sensors to pick up. The landing party had quickly become a search party when they realized they needed to find him. Especially when, 20 minutes into the search, Spock's communicator had chimed and they'd heard a weak, garbled voice come through the line that, although distorted almost past recognition, was unmistakably the sound of their navigator. They thought for a moment that it must be too weak to be transmitting properly, and then Uhura had spoken up.

"He's speaking Russian," she said. Spock looked at her for only a second before she was pulling out her own communicator.

"Uhura to Enterprise. Get Dr. McCoy down here, now."

McCoy landed roughly on the sandy terrain, stumbling slightly. He straightened up, clutching his medpack tightly. He sighed heavily in relief to be back on solid ground again. He looked around and spotted the landing party to his right. He ran over to them, pushing two security officers out of the way in order to get next to Spock, how was holding his communicator out so everyone could hear the voice talking on the other end. Spock inclined his head to the doctor when he saw him and Uhura have him a pinched smile. He glared down at the tiny metal device in Spock's grasp, crossing his arms as he tried to listen. But what he was hearing wasn't making a lick of sense.

"He must be injured," McCoy told those surrounding him.

"What gives you that indication?" Spock asked. "What is he saying?

"He's not saying anything particularly helpful, just rambling nonsense," McCoy quieted, leaning closer to the communicator. Spock handed it to him before turning to the rest of the group.

"Spread out and continue looking. Lieutenant Uhura and I will head back south, where he was last seen. Dodds and Phiet head north, Jessen and Wheller take east," he said lowly. The others nodded.

"Doctor," Spock said as everyone dispersed. "Stay here." McCoy nodded absently, his focus still on the communicator. Uhura gripped his arm, briefly, before leaving with Spock. Chekov was now talking about the house he used to live in when he was growing up. McCoy was having a hard time following, as the kid jumped from point A to point C and then G before going back to B.

"Pavel?" McCoy called. Chekov didn't stop his anecdote for even a second, just plowed on talking. McCoy rubbed his free hand across his face worriedly. _Come on kid_, he thought desperately, _give me something I can work with_. He continued on talking for 10 minutes before abruptly he silenced. McCoy gripped the communicator tighter.

"Chekov?" he asked. Silence and then…

"Doctor?" McCoy let out the breath he had been holding at the sound of the weak voice.

"Yeah, kid, it's me. Where the hell are you?" He asked anxiously into the communicator.

"I…I do not know," came the voice after a pause.

"Are you injured?" McCoy asked. Another long pause.

"My head hurts," Chekov said. _Concussion, _McCoy diagnosed from the slow processing speed, confusion, and disjointed sentences.

"I can help that," McCoy assured him, "I just need to know where you are. Look around you, what can you see?" This time Chekov was silent for almost two whole minutes. McCoy was just about to close the communicator, thinking the kid had passed out, before his voice spoke again, soft.

"Doctor, do you know the story of the merchant's son?" McCoy sighed.

"No," he said. "Why don't you tell me about it?" McCoy realized it was a fruitless effort to try and coax a location out of the ensign. His concussion rendered most of what he said useless. Chekov began his tale, taking frequent silent pauses that worried McCoy immeasurably. McCoy had sat down unto the cold, hard ground as he listened. He closed his eyes, wanting to help his young friend, when suddenly something Chekov said suddenly had him bolting upright.

"What did you just say?" McCoy asked, his tone stern.

"I said the man was on a tall mountain," Chekov said, sounding hurt at McCoy's brusque tone.

"No, after that."

"Oh, I said it was gold. Not black like this one." McCoy turned slowly to the west, where a small mountain rose up, black as night. He looked around him again to get somebody from the landing party's attention and saw…no one.

"Dammit," he muttered, before taking off at a run towards the mountain. By the time he got to the bottom of it twenty minutes later, Chekov had stopped talking. He wasn't responding when McCoy called his name either, no matter how desperate his tone was. McCoy quickly closed the communicator before opening it back up.

"McCoy to Uhura," he said, beginning to make his way slowly up the rocky incline.

"Dr. McCoy?" The lieutenant's voice sounded a moment later.

"I think I found where Chekov is. I couldn't get ahold of you guys so I went myself," he huffed, grabbing the ground with his free hand when a large number of smaller rocks began to shower down the mountainside.

"Where?"

"Black hill towards the west, about a mile away from-UGH" his sentence was cut off his own strangled yell. He'd taken a step up the mountain and his leg had completely gone through, the black surface like a mirage. As he tried to pull his leg out, he began to sink further. His left leg was stuck too now. He ignored Uhura's frantic shouts of his name, still struggling. As the ground was now to his waist he screamed into the communicator.

"UHURA GET HERE NOW. SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THE- " again, he never got to finish his sentence before he sank even lower and suddenly he was free-falling. The darkness surrounded him completely, pressing painfully against his eyes, ears, and mouth. He tried to scream.

After what felt like an eternity, he came to a crashing stop. His vision exploded as his head hit against something hard and he lost consciousness.

_Authors Note: Hey, everyone! Just a quick little run-down on how this story is going to work. Right now, I have about 50 chapters planned. Most are one-shots, but some are 2 or even 3 shots. Like this one. Part Two will be posted sometime later this week. The timeline jumps around from chapter to chapter, but there should be enough clues in the story to give you a hint as to where it fits. Each chapter will be titled "Not a [blank]", which is in reference to McCoy's famous "I'm a Doctor, not a...[insert thing McCoy is not]". But, like in TOS and AOS, McCoy inevitably ends up being the thing he just said he wasn't (i.e. Torpedo technician, psychiatrist, etc.) So in this chapter, it means, with the translation, "Not a Friend", when, in the end, he actually proves he is indeed a friend to Chekov. Sorry, I'll stop rambling now._

_Please review with any questions or comments you may have. Thanks! _

_-Ashley_

_Edit: Adding translations, sorry for the inconvenience!_

_Все в порядке – You're alright_

_Где я? Где мать?- Where am I? Where is mother?_

_ Отпустите- Let me go!_

_Я не могу сделать это, парень – I can't do that, kid_

_Стоп. не двигаться или вы ушибете. Просто успокойтесь и все будет в порядке- Stop. Do not move or you will hurt yourself. Just calm down and everything will be okay._

_Возможно, если бы ты не был таким идиотом жира, я не должен был бы сделать вашу работу за вас- Maybe if you were not such an fat idiot, I would not have to do your work for you._

_Придурок- Moron._

_Мудак- asshole_

_маленькая сука- Little bitch._


	2. Not a друг (Part Two)

Not a друг (Part Two)

McCoy blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision. He stopped when he realized it wasn't his eyes that were causing the pitch-blackness of his vision.

"Shit," he breathed, staring up as he continued to lie on the hard ground. He couldn't see a thing. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, just trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. What was he doing here, again? Why wasn't he back on the safety of the ship, of his bed?

_Chekov_, his brain finally clicked.

He had to find the young ensign, if he was even down here. Wherever 'here' was, that is. Finally he summoned the proper energy to roll onto his side with a large groan. Nothing seemed broken, but everything was aching and protesting movement. He blinked again as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He seemed to be in a small cave, the ground uneven and rough with rocks. Beside him, his tricorder lay nestled between two rocks. There was only a faint light coming from its cracked and dirty screen, and he used to illuminate his surroundings, keeping his hands out in front of him as he walked.

"Chekov?" he called. His voice reverberated throughout the entire cave, bouncing off the edges. As soon as the noise died, he heard a quiet, barely discernible mutter of "привет?" He whipped his head to the side, wincing when the motion pulled on his sore…everything. Only visible because of his bright gold shirt, Chekov was lying propped against a huge stone that looked smooth and sharp like a gem, gleaming softly even in the dim glow.

McCoy made his way slowly over to Chekov, crouching next to him. He ran his eyes over the small Russian, taking in the awkward bend of his right arm and the large gash on his forehead. Chekov was looking at him, his eyes glassy.

"Dr. McCoy? What are you doing here?" he asked, tongue swiping along his dry lips.

"Rescuing you," he said, tearing a strip out of his already-torn blue shirt. He used it to wipe the blood from Chekov's face, causing the kid to wince when it pulled at the wound.

"извините," he apologized. Chekov closed his eyes at the ministrations.

"Hey, hey, look at me," McCoy called, putting his hands on either side of the kid's face. Chekov blinked his eyes slowly.

"You gotta stay awake, alright? Вы понимаете?" McCoy said firmly. Chekov nodded and stared up at him.

"Doctor, you are bleeding," he muttered, lifting a hand to point at McCoy's face. McCoy frowned and reached up, wincing when his hand touched a large gash that seemed to run along his entire left cheek and across the corner of his mouth.

"Dammit," he said pulling another strip off his shirt and wiping the blood away.

"Where are we?" Chekov asked, trying to sit up. McCoy pushed against his shoulder lightly, keeping him where he was.

"That's a good question, kid," he asked, looking around their dark enclosure.

"The last thing I remember was walking up the mountain and…" he trailed off.

"And the ground sucked you under?" McCoy asked, remembering his own experience.

"Aye, sir." Chekov shivered and McCoy realized for the first time how cold it actually was down here, in addition to the dark.

"I need you to follow my finger with your eyes, okay?" he asked Chekov, leaning in close and dragging one index finger along the kid's field of vision.

"Dammit," he muttered again when the reaction was much, much slower than it should have been. Concussion, like he had suspected earlier. Problematic, but there wasn't anything he could do about that unless he had a medpack.

Oh.

McCoy jumped up quickly, leaving Chekov where he was and making his way back to where he had fallen through, searching through the rocks. He picked up the shattered remnants of what was once Spock's communicator. He'd have to apologize to the Vulcan when he got out of here. If he got out of here, his brained supplied pessimistically. After his quick search revealed nothing but the short-circuiting tricorder, he sat back on his heels. Damn. He thought he'd had the medkit when he'd fallen through. Unless it had fallen off before the mountain sucked him under. God, he hated alien planets. A mountain that ate people? Seriously? Who thinks of these things? He stood up, wincing at the bruises he already felt cropping up all over his body.

He was making his way over to Chekov when a melodic trill broke through the suffocating silence of the cave. He looked back at the shattered communicator with a frown. The sound stopped as Chekov's voice said quietly "Da?" McCoy could have hit himself as he hurried back to the fallen ensign. He realized that the knock to the head he had when he'd landed down here must have been worse than he thought if he had forgotten Chekov had had a communicator. As he crouched down next to the fallen Russian, the kid handed the communicator to him.

"The voices are yelling at me," he muttered sadly. McCoy lifted the communicator up, hearing Uhura calling Chekov's name loudly.

"Lieutenant, it's McCoy," he said tiredly.

"Dr. McCoy! Thank God!" She said, sounding relieved. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Chekov has a nasty concussion and a broken arm. And as to where we are, you're not going to believe this," he said, glancing around at the cave again.

"Try me," she said. He explained how he'd been walking up the mountain after Chekov when the ground itself had seemed to grip his leg tight, pulling him under to the cave they were at now.

"That's new," Uhura said weakly after he told her.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Oh, I have someone who wants to talk to you, Doctor," Uhura said apologetically. McCoy's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, wondering why she would sound so sorry. As the voice came through the other end, the volume so loud he and Chekov both winced, he realized why.

"Bones! What the hell?" It was Jim, sounding frantic. "We thought you were dead!"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist, I'm fine," McCoy scoffed. "Just tell me you're working on getting us out of here?"

"No, I figured I'd just leave you there," Jim bit back sarcastically.

"Then you'd have to file a shit ton of paperwork," McCoy informed him seriously. Jim huffed in annoyance.

"Well, I should leave your ass stranded, giving me gray hair like that," Jim said it with attitude, but years of being his best friend had taught McCoy to recognize the unspoken words there. It was Jim's way of saying I was worried about you.

"We're analyzing the mountain now, trying to get a read on why it would suddenly…eat people." Jim finished bluntly.

"I don't care why, I just want to know how to reverse it," McCoy said bitterly, wiping more blood off Chekov's face, the kid's glassy eyes staring at him through half-hooded lids. When his eyes slipped fully closed, McCoy tapped his cheek gently.

"Hey, просыпаюсь, kid," Chekov looked at him again, annoyance on his dirty, blood-smeared face.

"Is Chekov bad?" Jim asked worriedly.

"No," McCoy said, his tongue tasting the blood seeping into this mouth from the cut on his lip. It was metallic and made his stomach clench. "Just a concussion and a broken arm."

"And you? You sure you're alright, Bones?" McCoy rolled his eyes.

"I could hear that eye roll from here," Jim laughed.

"Well, quit worryin' about me. I told you I'm fine, dammit," he said distractedly, looking around for anything to use as a splint for Chekov's arm. Seeing nothing, he tore the entire sleeve off his shirt. He placed the communicator on his shoulder, pressing his head against it as he got to work securing the kid's arm. Chekov screamed loudly when McCoy picked up his arm, despite his ginger touch.

"Bones?" Jim yelled in his ear.

"I'm splinting Chekov's arm, give me a minute," he barked. A few minutes later both he and Chekov sat back on the ground, breathing heavily and completely spent.

"No more away missions, Jim," McCoy said heavily, smiling when Chekov nodded emphatically beside him.

"You know you love the adventure," Jim said. McCoy snorted.

"Bones, don't move. We need to try something real quick. Just hold on," Jim said hurriedly. Before McCoy could even respond, the ceiling above them began to shake. McCoy threw himself over Chekov as rocks showered down.

"JIM!" he called.

He only heard static back. _Shit! _

The whole cave was vibrating more violently now, and McCoy closed his eyes tight as more and more rocks fell around them. He bit back a cry when some struck his back, cutting his shirt and hitting flesh. Chekov whimpered beneath him. And just as suddenly as it started, the shaking stopped. McCoy still didn't move from his protective crouch over the fallen ensign for a few minutes, both of them breathing heavily after the adrenaline rush. When the sound of the communicator ringing finally registered to his ears, he slowly crawled off Chekov, biting his lip to keep from crying out as his back screamed in agony at his movement. He picked up the communicator he must have dropped during the…whatever the hell it was and laid back on the ground on his stomach.

"…Yeah?" he croaked.

"Bones! Jesus, are you guys alright?" McCoy groaned, unable to hold it back as he started to make his way back over to Chekov.

"Nothin' a few rounds of the dermal regenerator won't fix," he said. He hissed as he tore more of his blue shirt off to wipe at the cut on Chekov's face. Luckily, his impromptu performance as a human shield had prevented Chekov from getting any new injuries.

"Нет спальные!" he said sharply, causing Chekov's eyes to snap open.

"Well, I've got a good news/bad news situation here. Which one you wanna hear?" Jim asked him.

"Give me the good news," he said.

"We think we know how to get you guys out of there," Jim said cheerfully.

"Buuuut," McCoy drawled, wincing as he felt blood drip down his back.

"But, it involves blowing a hole in the mountain," Jim said sheepishly.

"You're joking," McCoy bit out.

"Wish I was, Bones. It's the only way. Scotty can't pick up your signal strong enough to beam you out," Jim explained.

"This is just great. How do you even know which side we are on? What if you blow us up in the process?" McCoy asked.

"They gave some explanation involving sound and pulses. Long story short, we know that you're near the north side of the mountain, so as long as we stay to the south, you should be fine. Probably," Jim said.

"Oh, how reassuring," McCoy snapped.

"It'll be fine. I'll call you when we're ready. Kirk out." Jim said before the line went dead. McCoy sighed and looked at Chekov, who was blinking owlishly up at him. McCoy tried to smile reassuringly, but the cut on his lip turned it more into a grimace.

"It'll be okay," he told the navigator.

"Doctor, have you ever heard the story about the merchant's son and the golden mountain?" Chekov asked quietly. McCoy frowned, worried about Chekov's memory loss. He knew he needed to keep the kid awake while they waited and what better way to do that than by talking?

"No, why don't you tell me?" McCoy said, lying back on his stomach to keep his back from touching anything. He pressed his cheek against the rough rocks and let Chekov's voice wash over him.

Sometime later, he wasn't quite sure how long, he startled back awake. Chekov was still talking, but barely. He was switching between English and Russian and his sentences were disjointed. He would pause heavily between some words and his breathing was slow. McCoy was about to crouch next to him when he remembered the reason he had woken. The communicator was ringing loudly right next to him. He picked it up and opened it, the simple movement causing burning heat to race up his back.

"Son of a bitch…hello?" he snapped.

"Bones, you ready? We need you to get as far back as possible and try to get behind anything you can," Jim said. McCoy looked at the rock Chekov was currently leaned against and realized that was as good as it was going to get. He sighed and walked over to Chekov. He helped the kid sit up.

"We're going to have to move now, Вы понимаете?" Chekov nodded and McCoy helped him scoot back behind the rock. Chekov bit his lip when the movement jostled his arm. Tears welled in his eyes.

"I know it hurts, but help is coming," McCoy assured him. Then, into the communicator he said, "Okay, we're ready."

"See you in a minute, Bones," Jim said, his voice steady enough to calm McCoy's anxious nerves a fraction. McCoy snapped the communicator closed. He sat down next to Chekov.

"Here goes nothing," he told the kid, who only nodded.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll 

"Okay, do it," Jim barked. The science officer with the detonator nodded sharply. Jim placed the communicator in his pocket as he, Spock, Uhura and the 5 other people on the ground plugged their ears tightly. The ground shook roughly when the explosion went off, everyone ducking slightly as some rocks flew their way. They waited as silence slowly fell over the area. Jim quickly popped his head up and looked at the side of the mountain, which now had a large, rough hole in it. Jim quickly ran to the opening, Uhura and Spock hot on his heels. He waved his hand in an attempt to clear the cloud of dust that filled the dark cave away from his face.

"Bones?" he called loudly, looking anxiously through the rubble for any sign of his best friend. The sound of coughing echoed around the space, but Jim couldn't find where it was coming from. Suddenly some rocks shifted to the right of him and out walked Bones, staggering slightly under the weight of the unconscious navigator he held in his arms. Bones' clothes were torn, his face was bleeding from several places, and he was covered in dust so thickly, you couldn't even see the blue of his shirt anymore. Jim, Spock, and Uhura looked at him, mouths agape. He glared at them suddenly.

"I could use some help!" he barked, wincing as he tried to shift Chekov's weight. That seemed to snap the trio out of their shock. They ran forward, Spock taking Chekov from Bones with ease.

"Careful, his arm," Bones said, motioning towards the precariously tied appendage. Spock nodded and headed out of the cave. Bones tried to follow, but stumbled weakly. Jim reached out and gripped his arm tight, steadying him. He took in the cuts on his back with a grimace.

Jim moved to put Bones' arm around his shoulders but Bones jerked away, out of Jim's hand.

"I'm fine!" he snapped, wiping blood out of his eyes.

"You don't look fine," Jim said calmly.

"Well you could say I've had a rough day," Bones said, striding out of the cave without a backwards glance at the two.

Jim turned to look at Uhura, who merely shrugged. They followed Bones back out into the light.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

That night, Jim walked through the doors of Medbay quietly. The lights were dimmed low and he nodded at Christine as he walked to the far end of the room. Chekov was sleeping soundly in the last bed, his arm secured tightly against his chest as it rose each time the Russian inhaled. Bones sat in one of the hard plastic chairs, his feet propped up on the edge of the bed and his hands folded lightly in his lap. He looked up as Jim came to stand on the other side of the bed.

"You look like shit," Jim told him with a smile. Bones just smirked back, wincing as it pulled on the numerous cuts on his face. "Chekov okay?" Bones nodded. "He'll be discharged tomorrow, back to work day after that," he whispered, eyeing his patient critically.

"Good," Jim smiled. He stared at Chekov a moment longer before his eyes drifted to his best friend.

"You did good today, Bones," he said seriously.

"Thanks," Bones said, not taking his eyes off Chekov. Jim walked away without another word, stopping to rest his hand on Bones shoulder for half a second before he left Medbay.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

McCoy jerked awake, stifling a yelp as all the bruises and cuts he had acquired the last twenty-four hours ached at the movement. He looked around the deserted Medbay before his eyes rested on the figure on the bed in front of him. He jumped slightly when he saw a pair of large, brown eyes staring back at him. He let out a huff of breath.

"You scared me, kid," he said. "What are you doing up?" Chekov shrugged with one arm.

"I could not sleep," he said.

"Yeah," McCoy said understandingly "It's been…a hell of a day." Chekov nodded. They lapsed into silence, McCoy closing his eyes as he leaned his head back.

"Doctor?" Chekov asked quietly. McCoy opened his eyes.

"Yeah?" he said gruffly.

"I wanted to say thank you, for coming to save me today," he said, his brown eyes boring in McCoy's own.

"Didn't do too well of that, did I?" McCoy laughed.

"вы пробовали," Chekov said, a smile playing at his lips. McCoy leaned his head back again. He closed his eyes as he continued talking.

"You think you could tell me the story of the Merchant's son? I never did quite catch the ending," he asked. Chekov laughed for a moment, before nodding.

"Long ago, there was a rich merchant, whose son had too much fun spending away his money…"

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

Translations:

привет?- Hello?

Извините- Sorry

Вы понимаете- Do you understand?

Просыпаюсь- Wake up

Нет спальные- Hey, no sleeping!

Вы понимаете- Do you understand?

вы пробовали- You tried.

**Authors note:** Thanks so much for sticking with the story, guys. And a huge thanks to my shiny new Beta Reader, ZenaraTheDragon.

_Up next: Not a Flirt._


	3. Not a Flirt

It had been exactly one week since the Enterprise had finally returned to San Francisco after the battle with Nero; one miserable week that flew by in a haze. Between official debriefings, overseeing the care of Captain Pike, mandatory psychological evaluations, and tearful conversations with relatives he barely knew, Leonard McCoy was_ tired_. Tonight was the first time he'd been able to actually make it back to his apartment and, more importantly, his bed. He had planned on crashing and sleeping for the next 4 days. But, as he had lay down and sunk into the pillows, sleep had evaded him. Behind his closed lids, hellish memories resurfaced, replaying themselves in vivid detail until he would jolt up, sweaty and near-hyperventilation. He had been able to push the dark thoughts from his mind all week but now, free of a distraction, they were making themselves known. The look on Dr. Puri's face while McCoy held him as he slowly slipped away, the heartbreak he'd witnessed on the faces of the Vulcan refugees, and the fear that had accompanied almost every minute he'd been on that godforsaken deathtrap of a ship. After two hours of fitful tossing and turning he had finally growled vehemently and given up. And that was how McCoy found himself in the darkened corner of his favorite bar, just down the road from his building, nursing a drink at 1 in the morning.

He rubbed a hand across his face, wishing the shitty synthetic Kentucky Bourbon they'd served him would at least have the decency to compensate for its awful taste by getting him drunk faster. His hand met coarse hairs and he realized he didn't remember the last time he had shaved. Or showered, for that matter. He sighed and took another swig, wishing Jim was there with him. He missed his best friend more than he would ever admit to him. He hadn't even seen him since the last meeting they'd had together with several Starfleet admirals to go over, yet again, what had happened from the point McCoy had snuck Jim onto the Enterprise, to the moment they stepped off of it 7 days ago. After a rather severe verbal reprimand for their lack of policy procedures, Jim had only given him his signature annoying grin, squeezed his shoulder and said "It'll be alright, Bones," and walked away, undoubtedly headed to another meeting. That was 5 days ago. Now, he could really use Jim's uncanny ability to make him forget whatever trouble he happened to mulling over at any given time.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone gently clearing their throat behind him. He looked up from his drink with a scowl.

"Is this seat taken?"

He knew the blonde woman who was currently smiling softly at him, pointing to the bar stool next to his at the counter, he just couldn't remember from where. After a few more seconds of staring at her, his slightly-buzzed brain supplied the answer. Chapel. She was a nurse on the Enterprise. Well, technically, now she was Head Nurse. She had received her promotion the same way he'd received his: an ill-timed hit to Deck Six that had taken the life of her predecessor. He stared at her a moment longer, taking in the fact that she looked no better than he felt. Disheveled, large bags under the eyes, and in desperate need of a drink. Finally, he shook his head.

"Take it at your own risk, though," he told her darkly, the alcohol making his southern accent more pronounced, "I am not in a talkin' mood tonight."

"Good. I was worried I'd have to suffer through the nightmare of idle chit- chat," she replied quickly, sitting down in her seat. He felt one side of his mouth lift up as he continued to stare down at the amber liquid in his glass. After five minutes of silence, each person lost in their thoughts, his curiosity got the best of him.

"What brings you here tonight, Nurse Chapel?" She set down her drink and turned to him, one well-defined eyebrow raised.

"I thought we were skipping the conversation, _Doctor_ McCoy?" she emphasized his title in response to his formality with hers. He shrugged and turned away.

"Couldn't sleep," came the resigned voice beside him after a minute. He chuckled.

"You too, huh?" he replied.

She smiled sadly at that and took another drink from her glass. He looked at her, realizing for the first time since they had met, that she was quite beautiful. Tall and graceful, her blonde hair was twisted away from her face, showing off her stunningly blue eyes. She had the beginning of wrinkles at the corners, reminding him that, unlike most cadets in their class, she was almost the same age as him. Her nose was slightly curved and, as she licked her lips after putting her glass down, he was drawn to how full they looked. She smiled.

"Are you staring at me for a particular reason? Do I have food on my face?" she asked, the quirk to her lips letting him know she knew full well there was nothing on her face. He turned away quickly.

"No ma'am," he answered her.

"So Dr. McCoy-" she began.

"_Leonard_," he told her.

"Leonard," she corrected herself, "since you've started the conversation, you've got to continue it." She stared at him expectantly. He tilted his head in thought.

"Okay, Chapel," he said after a moment, hoping she'd invite him to use her first name.

"Christine," she said

"Okay, Christine," he started again, "what made you want to become a nurse?" On board the Enterprise, she had been the best damn nurse he had ever met; she was at his side constantly, always anticipating what he needed during procedures before he ever asked, offering her opinion when he needed it, and remaining calm during the many crises. She'd helped him cover the bodies of Dr. Puri and the rest of the poor souls on Deck 6, her face never breaking from the cool, calm, mask she presented.

She stared back at her glass and shrugged. "I like helping people." She said simply.

"Why Starfleet, though?" he prodded.

"Long story," she said bitterly after a moment's silence, her clenched jaw letting him know it was a subject best to drop.

"Fair enough," he replied.

"And you?" she asked with narrowed eyes. "What makes a simple country doctor from Georgia suddenly want to see the stars?" He'd been impressed when, the first time he'd introduced himself to her, she been able to place the drawl in his voice. He supposed it wasn't as well hidden as he'd like to think. He smiled sadly at her and downed the rest of his drink.

"Darlin', I'm not nearly drunk enough to bring out those skeletons," he told her, motioning to Mike, the bartender, for a refill. She laughed at that. After he'd gotten his refill she suddenly reached her drink over to him.

"To new beginnings."

He looked at her carefully before clinking his glass with hers. "To new beginnings."

After falling into another bout of companionable silence, McCoy asked "Do you think you'll stay on as Head Nurse of the Enterprise?"

Christine smiled and shook her head. "They'll get someone more qualified." McCoy took a sip of his Bourbon.

"You've already done a hell of a job there. I bet you will," he said firmly, setting his glass down.

She snorted.

"Really? That's a different tune than you were singing last week," she said. When he looked at her with confusion she squared her shoulders and adopted a dreadful excuse for a southern accent.

"'You wouldn't recognize it was Fall even after the leaves have changed,'" she drawled. He looked at her with arched brows.

"Was that supposed to be me?" he asked. She threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Yes that was you! You don't remember saying that me our first day?" She asked. He tapped his chin in thought. He did, vaguely, remember saying something like that. The time before they were responding to the Vulcan's distress signal seemed like a lifetime ago. He scoffed.

"Well, it's true. You do a terrible accent, by the way," he told her. "And I distinctly remember you biting back an equally disparaging comment of your own."

"Well I wanted to see how you'd react. Most doctors don't like nurses that back talk," she said bitterly.

"I prefer it," he said. She snorted disbelievingly.

"So you liked it when I called you a pompous ass?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he smiled at her.

She laughed. A piece of hair fell, landing lightly on her face. He wanted nothing more than to brush it backwards, behind her ear. And maybe, while he was there, he could just lean in, slowly bringing his lips down to meet…

"You're staring again," she warned, not even looking at him. He straightened up quickly.

"Was not," he mumbled. She grinned wickedly at him before getting serious suddenly. She leaned in, closing the distance between them to only a couple of inches. He placed a hand on the back of her chair, staring intently at her.

"You know, Leonard, we could always-" she was cut of suddenly by the sharp trill of a communicator. He scowled, wanting desperately to know the other half of her sentence. Before he could silence the ringing coming from his pocket she had already leaned back, taking another sip of her drink. He reached in his jacket and pulled out the communicator.

"McCoy." He answered angrily.

"Bones!" it was Jim. McCoy, despite being angry at the interruption, smiled. "Where are you? I'm at your apartment." He heard the distinct sound of a refrigerator- _his refrigerator_- closing.

"I'm not there, Jim. I'm busy," he said, eyeing Christine as she reached upwards, stretching her back. Her shirt had lifted just a hair, revealing a strip of pale skin at her waist. Yeah, he swallowed hard, really busy. Jim snorted.

"Just pay Mike for your two glasses of Bourbon and get your ass back up here," Jim said distractedly. _How the hell did he know that?_ McCoy thought.

"Because you are so predictable," Jim said suddenly, causing McCoy's scowl to return. "Bones, I have news. Huge news. Like, the biggest." He sounded so excited, his words almost rushing together in his hurry to get them out. McCoy was already reaching into his pocket for his wallet, sighing.

"Alright, I'm on my way. Hold your horses," he said, throwing money on the counter. He hung up before Jim could answer. He stood and looked at Christine, who was smiling her beautiful smile at him.

"Any chance you'll tell me how that sentence was supposed to end?" he asked. She laughed.

"Not a chance, Dr. McCoy."

Ah, so they were back to formalities, were they? He straightened.

"Well, goodnight then, Nurse Chapel," she raised her near-empty class and tipped it in his direction.

"Night." He nodded once and then headed for the door. He looked back, only to see her still watching him. She winked.

He quickly left before he turned right back around and did something very unbecoming.

**Authors Note:**

Thanks so much everybody who commented and is enjoying the story! It means a lot and you guys are awesome! If you're on Tumblr, feel free to hit me up (url is Fandomtraveler). I occasionally will post things related to this story, like discarded chapter ideas, certain things that inspired chapters, etc. Thanks again and happy reading!

Up next: Not a Pirate

Cheers,

Ashley


	4. Not a Pirate

Not a Pirate

Leonard McCoy was, for the first time in a very long, long, while, having a good day. A great day, in fact. He'd finished all his necessary paperwork for the week, no crewmen were seriously injured, and he was looking forward to the 3-day shore leave the Enterprise was scheduled for in a couple days. The planet they had chosen was a beach-filled one and he was greatly looking forward to sitting in the sand for hours on end, doing nothing but drinking mint juleps. He smiled and continued through the crowded halls towards the Bridge. Jim had called him 20 minutes ago, asking him to come up as soon as possible. McCoy was trying to ignore the alarm blaring in the back of his mind, warning him that his exceedingly good day was about to come to an end. No, Jim just wanted to chat idly about the weather or ask about McCoy's department evaluations. Yeah, McCoy thought bitterly, that's gotta be it.

He walked through the turbolift doors onto the Bridge just as Jim, recording his Captain's Log for the day, said, "...So myself, Dr. McCoy, Lieutenant Sulu, and Commander Spock will take a small shuttle down to the planet, apprehend the criminals and take them the Starfleet Outpost Alpha Delta 4698. We have been authorized to use force if necessary. Hopefully, it won't be. Kirk out." McCoy raised an eyebrow as Jim turned to him.

"Oh, Dr. McCoy will be going, will he?" he asked.

Jim smirked, standing up and patting him hard on the back.

"Yes, he will," he said, then turned serious, "Right?"

"Why? Is someone injured?" McCoy asked skeptically, crossing his arms. Jim looked sheepish.

"Noooooooo," he dragged out the word, "Not yet, but we might have to injure the ne'er do wells in order to bring them in. I'd hate for them to die before being brought to justice. " McCoy snorted at Jim's chose of words.

"That's a pretty flimsy excuse, Jim," he told him.

"But I didn't tell you the best part," Jim's eyes lit up excitedly. "These aren't just any criminals we are bringing in, Bones. They're _pirates_." McCoy looked sharply at him.

"Pirates?" he asked disbelievingly.

Jim nodded. "Even better, they're space pirates. They've stolen about 14 small Federation ships and shuttles in the last 3 months. Starfleet was finally able to track their location, and we happen to be the closest available responders. So, what do you say?"

McCoy glared at his best friend, weighing his options. Jim just continued to stare patiently at him. He knew that Jim, as Captain, could order him to do it whether or not he liked it, but, them being friends, Jim had given him the courtesy of asking. And Jim knew that he would always say yes, simply because it was easier for McCoy to keep him in line from 2 feet away than it was from 2,000. He continued to scowl for a moment, letting Jim sweat.

"Alright, Jim, I'll go," he said begrudgingly, rolling his eyes. Jim positively beamed.

"Excellent," he said. The turbolift doors opened again and Scotty walked in. He approached the duo.

"Captain," he greeted Jim. He inclined his head to McCoy. "Dr. McCoy."

"Scotty," they both replied. The Scotsman looked a little nervous. Starfleet policy dictated that with both the Captain and First Officer being part of an away mission, Scotty was to step into the role as Acting Captain of the Enterprise. This wasn't the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. The reason for Scotty's unease, no doubt, was the string of bad luck that seemed to accompany _Captain_ Montgomery Scott. The last few times Scotty had sat in the chair had ended badly, culminating in the Gorn incident of last month. So McCoy couldn't really blame him.

Jim explained briefly what the plan was and how he was to send a rescue party for them if their shuttle didn't return in three hours.

"Remind me again why we can't just beam down?" McCoy cut in. Jim laughed.

"I thought you'd appreciate not having your molecules being disassembled?" he asked.

"I'd appreciate a glass of good bourbon right now," he muttered dryly, causing Scotty to smirk. Jim sighed in annoyance. "Suck it up, Bones, you're fine. And to answer your question, they have a transport distorter."

"That's definitely a made up thing," Bones grumbled. Jim gave him a withering look.

"No, it isn't. These people are pirates, Bones, they can't have anyone sneaking up on them. With the distorter, they can see everyone who arrives on planet. It also means no communication with the Enterprise," he answered.

"So they know we're coming?" McCoy asked

"Yeah, but we come in peace," Jim answered, as if it solved everything. McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. Jim turned to Scotty.

"Scotty, don't break anything while I'm gone," he said, far too much seriousness in his voice for anyone to take the comment humorously. Scotty nodded, giving Jim a solemn salute.

"Aye, Captain."

Jim smiled. "Alright, let's go."

/

Spock landed the small shuttle about a mile away from the camp, hoping to maintain at least some level of secrecy. If the pirates hadn't gotten a good look at their ship, they wouldn't know they were with Starfleet and likely wouldn't think to run. It was a long shot, but it would have to do. They had quickly grabbed their packs and headed out, Jim in the lead, followed by Spock, then Bones and Sulu bringing up the rear.

It only took them 40 minutes before the tents that made up the camp appeared on the horizon. After another 20 and they were stopped just outside the first tents. They all remained crouched, hidden behind large wind-blown rocks that jutted out of the rough ground like beacons. Jim quickly looked at the assembled team.

"Okay," he drew his weapon, "Phasers out, set to stun. I don't want any mess, so watch each other's backs, got it?" He looked at them with raised eyebrows and earnest eyes until the message soaked in. They all nodded.

"Here's what's going to happen-" Jim started, only to stop short as the sounds of an engine roaring spiraled down from above them. Spock looked upwards and frowned.

"Captain, our shuttle!"

The rest of them turned just in time to see their own small shuttle pass directly overhead.

"Son of a bitch!" Jim yelled as loudly as he dared without alerting the pirates of their presence.

"They stole our ship." He slammed his hand roughly against the rock.

"Yes, I can't believe the _pirates_ stole our ship. How uncharacteristic of them," Bones snapped. Jim shot him a look. Bones, thankfully, silenced as his mouth closed in a thin, tight line as he looked back at Jim. Jim ran his head through his hair wearily.

This had just gotten a lot more complicated.

"Captain, now that they know we are part of the Federation, they will attempt to flee," Spock supplied unnecessarily beside him.

"Yeah, I know," he said distractedly.

"What do we do?" Sulu asked quietly. All eyes were on Jim.

"We'll figure it out when we get there," Jim said.

/

"Oh shit."

"What?" he heard Bones whisper.

Jim turned slowly back to face his team, swallowing deeply.

"Slight problem…" he said, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Dammit man, just tell what it is!"

"Starfleet may or may not have underestimated the amount of…residents here," Jim said.

"How much of an underestimation?" Sulu whispered. Jim quickly shuffled out of the way.

"See for yourselves."

He watched as Bones, Spock, and Sulu all stepped forward. Even from their obscured location behind what appeared to be a medical station, it would be a hard sight to miss. They had a clear view of the large dining pavilion situated in the heart of the camp where, currently, an entire army of pirates sat enjoying their evening meal.

All 300-plus of them.

"Jim, if we go out there, it's suicide," Bones said gravely as he turned back around. Sulu nodded.

"There's just no way, sir."

"Captain, I do not advise it," Spock said urgently. Jim looked at them all, mouth slightly agape.

"You know, guys, I'm insulted. I know I've done some risky stuff in the past, stuff which, by the way, saved all of your lives a handful of times. But you seriously thought I'd let us go out there? Out matched probably a hundred to one?" Jim huffed. He stared at them all in disbelief.

And, much to his annoyance, three unfazed, unapologetic faces stared back at him. He rolled his eyes.

"Of course we're not going to continue the mission as planned. I've already got our new plan. There is only one part of said plan: get out of here as soon as humanly possible," he told them.

"Uh, Captain, aren't you forgetting? They kind of stole our ship," Sulu interrupted.

"Which is why we're going to have to get it back."

/

McCoy jumped over the man he had just stunned, barely giving him a glance as he continued to run faster than a bat out of hell. Damn you, Jim, he thought vehemently, dropping an approaching pirate with a quick pull of the trigger. _Damn you to hell._

If he died on some godforsaken planet, there would be hell to pay. He hurdled over the fallen body, sparing it only a second's glance, before he continued on his way.

Jim, Spock, and Sulu, being much better fighters than the doctor, were supposed to distract the pirates long enough for McCoy to find their ship. Jim's instructions to him had _sounded_ easy but now, actually implementing them was proving difficult.

Especially when their ship was nowhere to be found.

Panicking for a good minute and a half, he suddenly spotted the pirate's own small ship not 300 feet from him. It was guarded by only 3 men but they, unfortunately, were three of the ugliest, burliest sons of bitches that McCoy had ever seen. He took only a second to weigh his options before running towards the ship, knowing Jim was counting on him.

He managed to take the first guard out before they noticed him, one shot straight to the chest. The other two had quickly caught on, though, and were pulling out their own guns. McCoy dropped into a fairly impressive roll in order to avoid getting hit. Landing behind the pirates, he jumped up, hitting the second guard in the upper back. McCoy turned to face the last guard just in time for the man to kick the phaser from his hand. It skidded away, out of reach. Damn! Damn! Damn! McCoy glanced from the fallen phaser back to the man in front of him. The man's fist came flying, catching McCoy before he'd been able to react. Pain exploded along the entire right side of his face, knocking him flat onto the ground. The massive man towering above him looked down, smiling maliciously. McCoy didn't hesitate to bring his foot up and kick the man with all his strength right between the legs. It was a cheap move, but effective. He still winced a little in sympathy. The man dropped to the ground, howling with pain and trying to curl into the fetal position. McCoy jumped up, ignoring the blood dripping into his eye from a cut on his forehead, and ran to his phaser. He reached it, turned, and shot the man, watching his body go limp. McCoy proceeded to jump through the large door of the ship and sit heavily in the pilot's chair. Now for the hard part.

While at the academy, he had been forced to get certified as a shuttle pilot. Even though he had told them he had no intentions of ever flying a ship, it was required specifically for emergencies like this. It had been 3 years since he had been behind the wheel of one of these things.

Hopefully it was like riding a bike.

He flipped a series of switches, the shuttle humming to life beneath his hands. With the push of the giant button on his right, the shuttle gave an almighty jerk and slowly rose off the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

/

_Bones, where the hell are you?_

They weren't going to last much longer before the small security team they'd encountered got word to the rest of them. The last time he'd seen Sulu, the man had been scraped, bruised and bleeding in several places. Jim knew he couldn't look much better. Standing not far from his first officer, Jim could see there was a large, growing, green-tinted bruise along all the left side of his face and the Vulcan's movements were beginning to slow. Less precision, more wild. They needed to get out of here. Fast.

_What if Bones was down?_ He suddenly thought.

His gut twisted painfully and he pushed that thought out of his head as he continued to duck the flying fists of the man he was fighting. He suddenly found himself standing beside his helmsmen.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" he yelled. He landed a successful cross hook with his sparring partner, just as Sulu threw his to the ground.

"Been better, Captain," came the response.

He had just taken a rather painful kick in the ribs when the loud whir of an engine appeared above them. He glanced up, briefly, receiving another kick to the gut from his opponent for his distraction. It wasn't the shuttle they had arrived in, but instead a run down, black and green shuttle that seemed to be on its last leg. If it wasn't for the familiar scowl he saw behind the wheel, it wouldn't have even crossed his that this was their ride.

"Sulu!" he screamed "Get over there! I'll get Spock!"

Sulu landed one more vicious kick to his downed opponent before taking off at a dead sprint in the direction where Bones was currently setting the ship down.

Jim turned and threw up an elbow, sending the pirate sprawling. He looked wildly around for his first officer.

Luckily, it wasn't hard to find him. Spock and a bear-like man stood in combat a few feet away, the only people still up. Jim rushed to them.

"Let's go home, shall we?" he said to Spock, causing the Vulcan to glance at him momentarily as he joined in the fight.

Even two against one wasn't an easy battle with this guy. He swiped a mighty paw at the side of Spock's head, sending him crashing to the ground. Jim swung, his fist aiming high, only to have the guy side-step him. He grabbed Jim's arm and twisted, causing Jim to yell out as his eyes shut in pain.

With a shout, the pirate suddenly dropped Jim altogether, causing the two of them to hit the ground. Jim looked up.

Spock stood towering above him, silhouetted against the dying sun. Jim glanced beside him, at the unconscious pirate with raised eyebrows. He opened his mouth to ask.

"We must hurry!"

Jim looked and saw that another group of pirates was making their way towards them from the other side of the site. He nodded and Spock hauled him to his feet. They took off towards the ship.

They practically flew through the door. Bones took off, the door still left open as the ground got farther and farther away.

He pushed a button and it shut, blocking out the sound of the yelling pirates below. They drove in silence for a while, all the men taking a moment to catch their breath. Finally, Jim went up and sat in the seat next to Bones. There was blood coating half of his best friend's face from a cut above his eyebrow but, besides that, he looked unharmed. Jim felt his own face split into a wide grin.

"What?" Bones snapped, not looking away from the wheel.

"Bones, I'm not complaining, but where the hell is_ our_ shuttle?" he asked

"Hell if I know. I couldn't find it," Bones replied. He sounded weary and almost embarrassed.

"So you stole this one?" Jim asked. Bones nodded. Jim let out a bark of laughter.

"I can't believe you stole a ship!" he exclaimed.

"In case you forgot, they had already stolen ours," Bones reminded him. Still Jim continued to laugh, mainly in that _holyshitIcan'tbelievewemadeitoutofthere_ kind of way. Bones just scowled, wincing as it pulled at the cut on his face.

"I hate you," Bones told him sullenly once he'd stopped chuckling.

"Bones, you don't mean that," he said, still smirking.

"Yes, I do," Bones' reply was sharp and full of conviction.

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, Jim, I do. I hate you, I hate this mission, I hate this planet, I hate space, and, most of all, I hate pirates." Bones yelled loudly.

"Bones, you know you are technically a pirate now, right?"

"Fuck you."

They flew the rest of the way back to the Enterprise in silence.

/

Authors Note:

This was the last chapter edited by the always wonderful ZenaraTheDragon. So, a huge thanks to her. And thank you to all that have reviewed/favorited/are following the story. It means a lot. Apologies if you found Bones a little annoying towards the beginning of the chapter, I know I did a little. But, he redeemed himself, right? Good. The next chapter (Not an Artist) is a lot lighter than this. And much shorter, so it'll be a nice break before another action-heavy chapter.

Until then,

Ashley


	5. Not an Artist

Not an Artist

"Spock, what the hell happened?" McCoy barked, grabbing Ensign DeMarcus around the waist as the man's legs gave out. He was careful to avoid touching the kid's hands which were covered in large, painful looking boils.

"Unclear at the moment, Doctor," Spock replied, stepping out of the transporter room after the doctor.

Spock and a group of assorted Science officers had beamed down to the planet below for a simple biological survey. They needed to conduct soil analysis, check atmosphere readings and collect plant samples. Simple. But, as was prone to happen, something had gone wrong. McCoy had been called to meet Spock and Ensign DeMarcus back at transport to look at DeMarcus, who apparently had touched something he shouldn't have. They stumbled into Medbay and Bones dropped the injured ensign onto the nearest bed heavily.

"Ensign, you must tell us-" Spock began, standing idly behind McCoy as he scanned DeMarcus with the tricorder. The Vulcan was cut off by McCoy's brusque "Not now!" thrown over his shoulder. Spock stiffened.

"Doctor, it is imperative we know what caused this," Spock urged, "the rest of the landing party is waiting on us. They are unable to continue their work until they know which plant it was the ensign handled to cause such a reaction." McCoy was only half listening, already wrapping Demarcus' hands in thick gauze.

"Then call them back up," the CMO supplied. He didn't have to turn around to know Spock was giving him the Vulcan's version of a withering look. Before Spock could attempt to continue questioning the man in the bed, McCoy had loaded a hypo of sedative and gently released it into DeMarcus' neck. It wasn't just to spite the First Officer; the ensign's wounds had to be causing him a great deal of pain.

"Dr. McCoy, we need to know-"

"Heard you the first time, Spock," McCoy interrupted. He sighed and turned to the Vulcan. "I'll talk to him when he wakes up, try to get something out of him. Okay?" Spock seemed to contemplate his offer, probably unsure how to handle the rare show of civility from the usually cantankerous doctor. Sensing no trickery, he nodded and turned to leave. McCoy rolled his eyes and went back to work.

Two hours later, McCoy made his way through the crowded cafeteria, having spotted Spock sitting at a table in the back with Jim, the two talking quietly. McCoy sat done heavily in the empty seat next to Jim.

"Here," he said, pushing a piece of paper into Spock's hand.

"What's that?" Jim asked, trying to get a peek at the sheet his first officer was staring at with raised eyebrows.

"His precious flower," McCoy said, watching Spock's face turn to him.

"This is the plant Ensign DeMarcus was handling?" McCoy nodded.

"The Ensign said he couldn't identify it," Spock said confusedly.

"He couldn't. When he was lucid I had him describe it to me. I brought the picture to you to pass along to the away team," McCoy finished.

"You drew this?" Jim asked, having come around to look at the paper. McCoy nodded. It was, in actuality, a rather beautiful flower. It looked sort of like the peonies his grandmother used to keep back in Georgia. He'd tried to get the dimension's right, but the Ensign was struggling to remember. He'd given it his best shot and was not unpleased to hear the hint of admiration coming from the Vulcan when he said simply "I was unaware you could draw so well, Doctor." Spock thanked him and left quickly, headed to relay the information.

"Bones, I'm hurt." McCoy turned and faced Jim, who was now sitting beside him, a look on his face that was dangerously close to pouting.

"What?"

"You never told me you were an artist," Jim told him. He shrugged. Growing up, it has always been a hobby of his; something he did when he was bored. He wasn't an artist, not by a long shot, he just happened to good at drawing. He didn't draw anymore, not since he'd joined Starfleet. He figured it wasn't a productive use of a cadet's time. And now, as Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, he barely had time to sleep, let alone do anything to actually _waste time._ McCoy turned to realize Jim was smirking at him from across the table.

"What?" he snapped.

"Will you draw me like one of your French girls?" Jim asked innocently.

"Kiss my ass, Jim," he said, standing up and leaving. Jim's laughter followed him out the door.

**Author's Note**

Yes, in my mind, Jim and Bones at some point in their lives sat through the old Earth Classic, _Titanic. _This chapter was a nice, light one in order to get you ready for the next one, which is a giant ball of angsty heartache. Thanks to my shiny new Beta reader, Amanda. She is amazing. And, if you have any particular ideas for chapters you want me to do, hit me up. Thanks for reading!

-Ashley

_Up Next:_ Not Emotionally Compromised.


	6. Not Emotionally Compromised

Not Emotionally Compromised

It was a simple fact of life that bad things sometimes happen to good people, and Dr. McCoy was only too familiar with this. Being in the medical profession basically meant you were in the bad news giving business; he'd been forced to be the bearer of it more times than he could count over the years and, unfortunately, it never got easier. It was a jarring experience every time, one that shook him to his core and left him feeling achingly raw. It was easily the worst part of the job, trumping the most tedious of paperwork, the most irritating patients, and the longest of shifts. The only thing that had gotten easier as time progressed was his ability to put up a mask for such situations, barricading his emotions away from public viewing. He didn't mind one bit that, to the casual observer, his façade made him seem cold and detached. Let them think what they want because sometimes the concentration used to put up the front was the only thing keeping him from breaking down. Life was full of misery and unnecessary suffering and doctors were in no-way exempt from this.

"Dr. McCoy?"

He quickly popped his head up, turning towards the voice issuing from the comm unit on the far side of his room. He recognized Lieutenant Uhura's voice immediately and looked at the clock. 06:30. He still had half an hour until his shift started. He quickly spit out the remaining toothpaste from his mouth into the bathroom sink before walking over and pushing the talk button.

"Yes?" he asked. He hoped there wasn't an emergency on the bridge. He groaned internally, thinking of all the possible things Jim could have gotten himself in while McCoy had slept.

"Doctor, I have a call coming in for you from an earth-based hospital," she said. "A place called St. Joseph's." He frowned. St. Joseph's was the hospital he used to work at in Atlanta, before the divorce and before Starfleet. He hadn't thought about that place in years, mainly because of the ill-feelings it stirred up. He glanced down, realizing he was still clad only in his boxers.

"Can you give me just a minute?" he asked, running a hand through the stubble on his cheeks.

"I'll patch it through and leave them on stand-by in your room," Uhura told him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

He quickly grabbed the pants he had discarded on the ground last night and put them on. He shrugged on the black shirt that went under his Science-officer blues and attempted to smooth down his hair. Realizing it was as good as he was going to get he sat down in front of the large screen sitting on the table in his room. He pushed the glowing red button at the bottom. The screen flickered on.

"Dr. Andrews?" he said in surprise, seeing the characteristically round, jovial face of his former coworker fill the screen. He had always liked Dr. Andrews when the man had been his attending. He was exceedingly kind, his eyes always crinkled in a smile. He had a robust, barking laughing that even McCoy begrudgingly found infectious. But McCoy knew also that the man could change at the drop of a hat, turning into a frighteningly serious and controlled leader when need be. Today, he looked rather downcast. His mouth was pinched in a thin line and his eyes had lost their shine.

"Leonard," Andrews replied, his voice clipped. McCoy frowned at the use of his first name. It was uncommon for a traditional southern-roots doctor like Andrews to use anything but full titles.

"What can I do for you, sir?" McCoy asked suspiciously. Andrews sighed heavily. The sound churned McCoy's gut painfully.

"I have some bad news," Andrews said, causing McCoy's heart to thump so hard it practically took his breath away.

"What is it, George?" McCoy asked. His voice caught in his throat, coming out barely above a whisper.

"There was an accident," Andrews started. McCoy was forced to swallow the bile that rose in his throat.

"What kind of accident?"

McCoy gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles were white as Dr. Andrews told him about two patients who had been brought in after their hovercar had been t-boned at an intersection; a mother and a daughter, on their way to school. One of the nurses had recognized the mother despite the injuries, saying she remembered her coming to a few hospital functions years ago. After finding her ID and confirming it was, in fact, McCoy's ex-wife Jocelyn, Andrews knew he had to call. McCoy blinked hard, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

"Tell me they're alive," he begged, his face ashen. When Andrews paused, McCoy felt his heart suddenly go from beating too fast, to not beating at all.

"Yes," Andrews said finally. McCoy knew that if he had been standing he would have dropped right there. "But Leonard, it's serious." McCoy merely looked at him, imploring him to go on.

"Jocelyn needed a repair for a small tear in her intestines. She's in recovery now. She also had broken right tibia, a torn rotator cuff, a broken nose, and various lacerations. Mostly superficial," Andrews said. McCoy nodded, taking in the information. He swallowed hard.

"And Joanna?"

"She's in surgery now," Andrews said. McCoy's heart sank. "There was damage to her spleen. And she fractured her skull near the base," he said.

"She fractured her skull?" he whispered. Andrews nodded.

"Her latest scans show an increased amount of pressure in her brain. We're worried she may slip into a coma," he finished. McCoy let his head drop into his hands and silence fell between the two men. After a minute, McCoy looked up. His eyes were red, but he had refused to cry. His mouth was in a determined line.

"Thank you for telling me, Dr. Andrews," he finally said. His voice was hollow. Andrews nodded.

"Of course, Leonard," Andrews said.

"I-I don't know if I can make it down there," McCoy said. He had no idea where in space they were at the moment, but he highly doubted Starfleet would allow the Enterprise's CMO to just up and leave.

"That's okay. Jocelyn's mother is here," Andrews said. McCoy nodded. The two said their goodbyes. As soon as the connection went dead, McCoy let his head fall back wearily into his hands. It broke his heart to think of his little girl, thousands of miles away from him. He wanted to be with her, to be there to smooth back her hair from her face, to kiss her forehead and be the first face she saw when she woke up. Suddenly enraged, he slammed his hand down onto the table forcefully. _Goddammit! _He breathed heavily for a few moments, getting in control of his emotions. He finished getting ready, his mind on auto-pilot. He didn't shave or comb his hair. He barely managed to put on his blue shirt and black boots before heading out the door.

He walked the way to Medbay in a haze. People called to him in greeting, but he didn't hear them. His mind was still occupied with the thoughts of his baby girl. Andrews' statement about the possibility of a coma came back to him and he had to bite his lip hard to keep from yelling in frustration. Somehow his feet led him to where he needed to be and he looked around Medbay, seeing three patients in the beds and a handful of nurses scattered about.

"Dr. McCoy?" he heard. He turned around, seeing Dr. Toll. The man must have been trying to get his attention for a while, based on the impatient way he was staring at him. Toll handed him a PADD, full of the patient log from last night.

"One case of the flu, one concussion, and one broken wrist," he was saying, still eyeing McCoy wearily. "Pretty simple stuff." Numbly, McCoy nodded, barely hearing the man. Toll left him then and McCoy found himself standing alone in the middle of Medbay, staring blankly at the floor. He truly had never felt more helpless in his life.

/

Jim strained his ears, leaning back as far as his chair would allow, trying to catch any of the whispered conversation going on behind him. Spock and Uhura had been arguing quietly the last 10 minutes and he was desperate to know about what. He kept catching the odd phrase here or there, but none of it made sense. Realizing what a hopeless cause it was, he sat up straight and turned his chair around to face the duo.

"Do I have to separate you two?" he asked, crossing his arms. Uhura glared at him before turning back to her station.

"No, Captain," Spock muttered quietly, returning to his seat. Kirk raised an eyebrow at him before looking back out the window.

"Captain, I have a call from Medbay coming in," Uhura informed him, her voice clipped, obviously still pissed. Whether her anger was directed at Spock or at him for interrupting them, he didn't know. He gestured for her to patch it through.

"Bones, what's up?" he called.

"It's Chapel, sir," a voice most certainly not his best friend replied over the system.

"Oh. Christine," he asked. "Is everything alright?" He glanced at his watch, finding it weird Christine would be calling him. Bones would have been on shift for three hours by now. Usually he was the one to call or, more likely, walk up to the Bridge if Jim was needed. There was silence for a moment.

"Can you just come down here when you have a moment, sir?" Christine finally said. Her voice sounded nervous and she was speaking low. His eyebrows knit together.

"Of course, I'll be there as soon as possible. Kirk out." He said, standing up from his chair.

"Seat saved," he said jokingly to Spock, who merely looked at him with confusion. He sighed.

"I'll be back, Spock. Take the con," he said. Spock nodded. Jim walked to the turbolift, hitting the button that would take him to the right floor. He tapped his fingers against in his leg, trying to think of what could cause Christine to sound like that.

He walked through Medbay doors a few minutes later, his eyes scanning and seeing nothing out of place. It looked like it did any other day. He saw Bones across the room, his back to Jim as he talked to a patient. He was about to walk over to him when a small hand grabbed his arm, pulling him over to an empty bed. He watched as Christine quickly let go of him and pulled the curtains around the bed shut, blocking them from the view of the rest of the room. Her face was pinched in worry.

"Christine, what's wrong?" he asked. She glanced around the small space again, making sure they were alone.

"I think you need to declare Leonard unfit for duty," she whispered. Jim felt his mouth open in shock.

"Bones? Why?"

"Something's wrong with him, Jim," she told him seriously. "I've worked with him for three years now and never seen him like this."

"Like what?" Jim said confusedly.

"So…empty. I can deal with a furious, ranting, pissed off McCoy, but I don't know how to handle a McCoy who is as withdrawn as he has been today. He's barely spoken a word to anyone and every time you talk to him his eyes go blank, like he's a million miles away. He was trying to scan Ensign Rio earlier but his hands were shaking too bad. I'm worried, Jim," she finished, looking at him with wide eyes. Jim ran a hand through his hair. He had talked to Bones just last night and he'd seemed fine. They'd had dinner together and they were laughing and joking like normal. Bones had told him about overhearing Chekov talking to himself in Russian, running through possible ways to ask Yeoman Anders out. What could have happened from then until now that would…

Oh.

Jim remembered this morning, overhearing Uhura patch through a call to Bones' room. He sighed. Whatever the phone call had been about was the cause for his friend's behavior. He put his hand reassuringly on Christine's shoulder.

"I'll go talk to him, see if I can't get to him. Or, at least make him take a sick day. I'd really hate to have to actually suspend him," he told her. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Christine nodded and pulled back the curtain. They walked out and Jim made his way over to where Bones was standing at an open cabinet, pulling out hypos here and there. Christine paused, letting Jim have some space with the man. Jim winced when he saw his best friend's face. Bones was the same pale shade as the sheets on the beds surrounding him. His eyes looked positively haunted, his shoulders stooped like he carried the weight of the world on them. Jim watched him reach for another hypo and saw that Christine hadn't been exaggeration about the shaky hands. Jim quietly walked up behind him.

"Bones?"

The man in front of him didn't even stir. Jim frowned.

"Bones?" he called louder. Again, he made no motion that he heard him.

"Dr. McCoy!" he yelled, his voice stern. Bones jumped, the hypos in his hands clattering to the floor. He turned around. The expression on his face was heartbreaking, reminding Jim so strongly of a lost child that he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching up and wrapping his friend in a tight hug.

"Can we talk in your office?" Jim asked. Bones nodded.

"Yeah, Jim," he said quietly, following Jim into his office. Jim closed the door behind them as Bones sat heavily in the chair at his desk.

Jim leaned his hands on the desk as he stared imploringly at the man across from him, who was refusing to meet his eye.

"Talk to me," Jim said. When he was met with silence, he placed a hand on Bones' arm. Bones still looked resolutely at the floor.

"What's wrong, Bones?" Jim asked.

"Nothing, Jim," came the muttered response. He shook his head.

"Don't do that," Jim said, shaking his head at McCoy as he stood up straight, crossing his arms. "Don't you dare lie to me like that." When Bones looked up at him the look in his eyes had been replaced with anger, the pupils blown wide. Jim quickly took a step back but was almost thankful for the switch. The dead, shell-shocked stare had begun to cause a chill to run along his spine.

"Don't tell me what to do," Bones growled, standing up from his chair.

"You're forgetting I'm still your superior officer, _Dr. McCoy,_" Jim warned, putting emphasize on the title. Bones recoiled slightly.

"Well, _Captain, _you can go to hell," he said, glaring at Jim.

"Bones," Jim suddenly softened. "I just want to help. I don't want to have to declare you unfit for duty," he warned. Bones suddenly kicked fiercely at his chair, sending it crashing to the wall as he leaned across the desk towards Jim.

"You wouldn't dare," he snapped.

"I will if you don't calm down," Jim said evenly. "Now, please, just tell me what's wrong." Bones looked away from him, glaring at the opposite wall.

"It's none of your goddamn business," he said, his volume escalating. Jim knew the whole Medbay could hear them now. Jim sighed.

"That's it, Bones, you're done," Jim said, rubbing his forehead agitatedly. Bones looked at him, his face red.

"You can't do that!" he yelled.

"I just did. Get out of here, come back when you've cooled off," Jim told him quietly. Bones merely looked at him, mouth open in disbelief.

"Go!" Jim yelled again, pointing at the door. Bones flinched at the volume before quickly straightening.

"Fuck you, Jim," he said roughly before striding towards the door. He threw it open so violently it swung back at hit the wall, causing both to crack. The patients and nurses stood frozen as McCoy stormed out of Medbay. Jim watched him leave before walking over to the comm unit on the wall.

"Kirk to Bridge," he said, letting his head hang.

"Captain?" Spock's voice sounded.

"Mr. Spock please note in the logs that at," he glanced down at his watch "10:46, I was forced to declare Dr. McCoy unfit for duty." There was a pause.

"On what grounds?" Spock asked. Jim sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. He hated having to say the next part, but Bones had left him no other choice.

"Insubordination towards a commanding officer," he said.

"Captain, may I ask-"

"Not now, Spock," he interrupted.

"I shall put in the note, Captain, and inform Dr. Toll he is to step in as the temporary head of Department," Spock replied coolly.

"Thank you, Commander," Jim said. "Also, please contact maintenance and inform them that repairs are needed for a wall in the Chief Medical Officer's office."

"Yes, Captain."

"And tell them it needs a new door, too," he added, staring at the splintered door. "Kirk out." He took his hand off the button and walked out of the room. Christine was waiting for him. She appeared quickly at his side, opening her mouth to speak. He cut her off with a quick shake of his head. Her mouth formed a tight frown but she nodded. He walked out of Medbay, heading back to the Bridge.

/

Two hours later, Jim found himself standing outside the door to Bones' quarters. He tapped his found anxiously, trying to decide if he'd given the man enough time to calm down. It'd been a long, long time since they'd had a fight like that. Jim had been sure Bones was going to hit him, which had scared him more than he liked to admit. He'd been silent when he'd returned to the Bridge, ignoring the questioning looks. He'd looked out the large window, his mind racing. What would cause Bones to act like that? Towards him, no less. Finally, he'd snapped he was going to lunch and stormed out. He'd picked through his meal half-heartedly before leaving, realizing he had to try and talk to Bones again. Gaining courage, he knocked on the door. He knew he was in there, he'd had Uhura check, but he wasn't surprised he didn't answer. Jim quickly entered in his override code and the door slide open. Jim stepped in and looked around. It took him a moment to find his best friend in the darkened room. Bones was in the far corner on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head leaned against the wall behind him. The room looked a mess, like the things had been violently thrown about. Jim walked over and slowly slid down the wall till he was seated right next to him.

"I'm sorry," Bones mumbled, turning his head to look at Jim. Jim looked up at him and saw that his eyes were red. He'd been crying. He could count on one clumsy engineer's hand the number of time he'd seen Bones cry.

"Me too," Jim said. There sat there in silence for a few minutes.

"You going to tell me what's wrong now?" Jim asked gently. He watched Bones clench his jaw.

"Jocelyn and Joanna are in the hospital," he whispered. Jim looked at him in shock.

"What?"

Bones didn't look at him as he told Jim about the call from Dr. Andrew's this morning, about Jocelyn and Joanna being in the hospital. When he got the part about the possibility Joanna might not wake up and his voice cracked, Jim quickly leaned over and hugged his best friend, unable to help it. After a few seconds, Bones returned the hug, holding onto Jim like a lifeline.

"I'm scared, Jim," he said, his mouth right next to Jim's ear.

"It's going to be okay," he said quietly.

"But what if it's not? I just feel so useless. I'm doctor, dammit, I should be there to help!" Bones said, pushing away from Jim and standing up. He started pacing agitatedly. Jim was quiet for a minute.

"So go," Jim said. Bones looked at him.

"Jim, we're thousands of miles away from Georgia right now," he said. Jim hopped up from the floor.

"Well, let's change that," he said, smiling at Bones who looked at him nervously, like he was too afraid to be hopeful.

"What do you mean?" Bones asked.

"Back a bag, Bones, I'll be back soon," he said and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Bones called after him.

"I've got a few phone calls to make," he yelled over his shoulder. The door slide shut and Jim took off running towards to Bridge.

He sprinted through the turbolift doors as soon as they opened unto the bridge. Everyone watched him as he slid to a stop in front of the chair, practically buzzing in his hurry.

"Uhura, call Admiral Wess," he said. Uhura looked at him strangely but began typing. Jim knew Bones wouldn't mind too much if the crew present heard the story he was about to tell to the admiral, especially if this worked. But it had to. Bones had to be with his little girl and Jim was damn sure he wasn't going to stop until that happened.

"Admiral Wess," he greeted the man who had appeared on the screen solemnly, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Kirk, this better be important," the elderly Admiral replied, looking like he was in the middle of packing up for the day.

Ten minutes later, he had the permission he needed. The story he told, of a man desperately needing to be with his child, must have struck a chord with the usually straight-laced, no-nonsense Admiral. It certainly had instilled a quiet, dark shadow on all those seated around the Bridge. Jim knew their hearts must be aching in sympathy for their CMO and Jim felt a rush of affection for his crew. He was thanking the Admiral profusely, despite the man assuring him it wasn't a big deal.

"But you do owe me one now, Jim," he said, pointing a finger sternly at Jim.

"Of course sir," Jim said, smiling politely. The Admiral nodded, returning the smile gently as he signed off.

"Mr. Chekov," Jim said, the smile falling into a frown as soon as the screen went black. "Plot a course back to earth,"

"Aye, Captain," the Russian replied.

"Sulu, Warp Factor 5," he said. The helmsmen nodded.

This time when he got to Bones' door, he didn't bother knocking. The door opened with his access code and he walked in.

Bones was sitting on the edge of his bed, but stood quickly as soon as he saw Jim. He didn't say a word, just staring at Jim with his face drawn together tensely, his eyes anxious. Jim smiled sadly.

"You packed that bag I told you to, right?" he asked. Bones' shoulders visibly relaxed. He didn't return Jim's smile, but his face did gain back a little of its color.

"We're going home?" he asked. Jim shook his head.

"_You're_ going home, Bones," he corrected. Bones nodded and sat back down on the bed. He let out a shaky breathe and looked up at Jim.

"I don't know what to say," he told him, running a hand through his hair. Jim shook his head.

"You don't need to say anything," Jim said. "Other than to promise you'll keep me updated when you get there." Bones nodded. Jim looked around the room, seeing Bones had cleaned up some of the mess from earlier.

"Do you want to go get something to eat in the cafeteria?" Jim asked. He knew Bones shouldn't be alone right now, as he still looked like he was going to collapse at any moment.

"Not really," he told Jim quietly. "I'd probably just throw it up if I ate anything right now." Jim had to agree with that. He walked over and sank onto the bed next to him.

"Okay, then we'll wait here," he said simply. Jim felt more than saw Bones stare at him with a sideways glance. He stared at the opposite wall, mouth set in a determined line.

"Thanks, Jim."

/

Two weeks later, Jim stood in the transport room, trying not to grin while his foot tapped wildly against the floor. He glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the last two minutes. What was taking him so long?

He'd been fast asleep last night when he'd received the call.

_The sound of his communicator jolted him upright_. _He scrambled quickly out of bed and across the room, grabbing the chirping device and flipping it open._

"_What?" he mumbled, wiping a hand across his sleep-heavy eyes. _

"_Well 'hello' to you too, sunshine," came the reply. Jim glanced across the room at the clock on the wall. _

"_Bones, it's 3:30 in the morning," he replied. _

"_Sorry, it's 10:30 here," Bones replied, sounding apologetic. _

"_It's okay," Jim replied quickly, regretting his tone. "Is everything alright?" He'd been receiving calls from his best friend every couple of days or so since they'd said goodbye. Jim had told Bones, right before the swirling white lights of the transport beam had engulfed him, to take all the time he needed with his little girl. "And say hello to Jo Jo for me!" he'd called. Bones had smiled sadly at Jim's use of the nickname but had nodded. _

"_Everything is great," Bones assured him. Jim's shoulders sagged in relief that a complication hadn't arisen. Bones had called him the couple days later, words rushed with excitement, to tell him that Joanna had woken up. She wasn't out of the woods yet, but her waking up meant that she wasn't in a coma. After another week, Joanna had been cleared to go back home under careful orders not to get out of bed. Jocelyn had been released from the hospital as well, but was still healing, so the two were under Bones' watchful eye. _

"_I just wanted to know if you guys were going to be back by this way anytime soon," Bones said lightly. "And, if you were, see if maybe you could pick me up." Jim grinned. Life aboard the Enterprise had gone on in Bones' absence, whether Jim liked it or not. He didn't, for the record. Not only did he miss his best friend, but the ship had missed its CMO. When they'd gone on an away mission last Thursday and Ensign Miro had been seriously injured when the ground beneath him had suddenly given away in a freak rock slide, Dr. Toll had been forced to treat her. Dr. Toll was good, but his specialty was psychology, not emergency medicine or surgery. And Jim needed Bones by his side, ready to give him advice or a "Dammit, Jim!" followed by a stern lecture. _

"_We can be there tomorrow afternoon," Jim assured him. He could practically hear the grin over the communicator. _

"_Thanks, Jim."_

"_No problem, Bones. Now, if you don't mind, can I get some sleep now?"_

"_Maybe one of these days you'll stop being a baby every time someone wakes you up," Bones told him. Jim just hung up._

Jim glanced at his watch again and frowned. Where was Bones? They'd been in transport range for 10 minutes now. Jim turned to the engineer at the controls and she just shrugged. Just as he'd reached in his pocket for his communicator, the transport pod suddenly lit up. He grinned when a familiar figure slowly materialized, looking a little worse for wear. Bones was standing there in jeans and a faded t-shirt, a duffle back thrown over his shoulder and scowling. He hadn't shaved in a while and he looked bone-tired. Jim was reminded of the day they met on the shuttle all those years ago. Bones walked off the pod, looking shaky on his feet.

"Maybe one of these days, you'll stop being a baby every time you get beamed somewhere," Jim said. Bones glared at Jim.

"Maybe one of these days I'll stick my foot up your ass," he replied darkly. When Jim only laughed, Bones grinned and dropped his bag. Jim walked over to his friend and hugged him roughly. It'd been a stressful few weeks.

"How's Jo Jo?" He asked as they broke apart.

"She's good, Jim. Really good," Bones said, picking up his bag again. "She gets to go back to school next week."

"And how was the rest of your visit?" Jim asked. Bones knew he meant _How was Jocelyn while you were there? _and just rolled his eyes.

"Same old, same old," he muttered darkly as they walked out the door. Jim winced in sympathy. Jim caught Bones up on what'd he'd missed on the Ship while he was gone as they walked to his quarters. He told him about the disastrous away mission and the hilarious incident two days ago when Spock had caught two of his science officers "playing doctor" in the labs while they were waiting for samples. Bones had laughed heartily at that and the sound was welcomed music to Jim's ears. They arrived at Bones' door.

"You should come up to the Bridge when you're dressed, everyone wants to see you," Jim told him brightly. He frowned when Bones looked down at his feet, his expression troubled.

"What?" Jim asked.

"Jim, I'm suspended, remember? I'm not allowed on the Bridge," Bones said, looking sadly at Jim.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jim asked. As soon as they'd dropped Bones off, Jim had made a note in the log to rescind the suspension, explaining his reasoning. It made him sad to think that Bones had honestly thought Jim would have kept him suspended while he was busy looking after his injured daughter. Bones' expression turned to one of exasperation.

"That captain of this ship told me so," he drawled. Jim frowned, shaking his head.

"That guy is an idiot," he said dismissively, turning to head back to the turbolift. "I'll tell everyone you'll be up in an hour to say hello."

"But Jim-" Bones said. Jim stuck his fingers in his ears and hummed loudly as he walked away. He still managed to hear Bones' sigh of annoyance.

"You're a child!" Bones called after him.

"La la la, I can't hear you," he said.

/

**Author's Note:**

Whoa. I know. Rough chapter to write. But the next one is pretty light, until the end. But, I think we can all make it through. Also, regarding the door Bones shattered. Yes,the doors of the Enterprise are automatic, but in my mind, the door going to his office is an old-fashioned one. Sorry if that sounds lame to you guys, it is just how I see it. Anyone who has continued to read this story, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys are absolutely amazing. Speaking of amazing, I owe another thanks to my Beta reader Amanda. Have a great weekend!

_Up Next: Not Making House Calls_


	7. Not Making House Calls

"Bridge to Dr. McCoy."

McCoy looked up from the crewman's fingers he was currently wrapping. Before he could even begin to call for Christine, she was at his side, having heard the call that had echoed from McCoy's open office. She grabbed the thick fabric from his hands as he maneuvered to allow her better access to the head of the bed.

"Just jammed. As soon as you finish, he's good to go," he explained quietly. She nodded, eyes set on the bruised digits. He put his hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly as he passed on his way to his office. He quickly shut the door and hit the button.

"McCoy here."

"Doctor, we need you to come up to the Bridge."

It was Spock's voice. He sounded…odd. His words were quiet and rushed, with confusion lining the syllables. Very unlike the usually pristine speech patterns of the Vulcan. McCoy's face turned into a frown.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"It's the Captain. He's…"

"What?" McCoy snapped, leaning forward anxiously.

"He is asleep."

/

"I thought you were kidding," McCoy whispered.

"Vulcans cannot lie, Doctor."

McCoy, Spock, and Uhura stood directly next to the Captain's chair, currently occupied with a sleeping Starfleet Captain. They all eyed Jim with matching frowns and crossed arms.

Jim's head was lolling against his chest unsupported, his left arm dangling off the arm of the chair. It would have been an alarming sight, were it not for the reassuring little snores emitted every time Jim breathed out.

"Why did you need me? I'm not his mother," McCoy complained. If they had dragged him all the way up here just so he was forced to be the one who woke Jim up, he was going to be extremely pissed. The kid needed a talking to about getting the proper amount of sleep so he could actually be awake while on duty, but McCoy had given that speech to him a thousand times. Whatever he had to say was clearly not resonating with his idiot of a best friend.

"We were concerned something was wrong," Spock said simply, slipping his hands behind his back. Uhura nodded, though she did so begrudgingly and after a roll of her eyes.

McCoy's left eyebrow raised minutely.

"Alright," he said, before making his way over to Jim. He crouched down beside him, his well-trained eyes searching for any sign of alarm. Jim did look a couple shades paler than he ought to be. But, that could easily be explained by the exhaustion.

"What was he like when he got here today?" McCoy threw over his shoulder, glancing down at his watch. Jim would have been on shift a little over an hour ago.

Uhura's eyes darted to the side as she tried to remember.

"He was quiet," Sulu suddenly said, swiveling in his chair to face McCoy. Chekov nodded beside him.

"He did not even say hello to us," the small Russian said quietly. McCoy turned back to Jim, placing a hand on his forehead. He was hot to the touch.

"Jim?" he called, not so quietly, as he pulled out his scanner from the pack he had brought with him. Jim didn't even stir. When his scanner beeped, he frowned at the results it gave him.

"Son of a bitch," he said, putting the scanner away and pulling a hypo and bottle of medicine out next.

"What is it?" Spock said, coming to stand beside him. McCoy glanced over his shoulder, meeting Spock's eyes briefly. They looked almost concerned.

"His breathing isn't right and his temperature is through the roof," he explained.

"Jim! I need you to wake up now," he barked loudly, filling the hypo carefully. Jim jerked suddenly, his eyes flying open as his head popped up. He blinked slowly.

"Bones?"

No wonder he hadn't talked to any of them when he'd arrived, it would have been a dead giveaway he was sick. His voice was raspy, and his eyes couldn't quite focus on McCoy's face.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, japing the hypo as gently as he could into Jim's neck. It was a testament to how sick he must have been feeling that he barely winced at the action.

"We need to get you to bed, Jim. Don't you dare say 'I'm fine' because we both know that's bullshit. Do you think you can stand?" Jim nodded slowly. He grasped the arms of his chair before attempting to push himself off. When it didn't work, he fell back against the seat.

"That's okay, I gotcha," McCoy said. He reached down and pulled Jim's arm securely across his own shoulders. He gripped Jim's waist tight.

"Okay, Jim, up you go," McCoy said as he lifted up. Jim groaned. He attempted to push his hands away.

"I…I can walk," he muttered. McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Sure you can."

McCoy continued to help Jim stumble across the Bridge, all eyes on them. They managed to get to the turbolift, Jim finally stopping his struggle as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Spock," he called suddenly, eyes searching for his First Officer.

"Captain?" he asked

"You got the conn. Take care of my ship," he added. Spock nodded.

"Of course."

McCoy reached a free hand over and hit the button that would take them to the right floor. He shared a worried glance with Uhura just as the doors of the turbolift slid shut. He looked down at the man in his arms.

"Jim, come on, stay awake for just a little bit longer," McCoy said as he gently shook Jim's arm. Jim's eyes had slipped closed but they shot open at McCoy's words.

"_Make _me," came the muttered response. McCoy snorted.

"You are a fountain of wit, kid. Really," he said with a shake of his head.

"_You're _a fountain of wit," Jim snapped back tiredly.

He rolled his eyes. God help him.

Twenty minutes later, Jim was stripped down to just his boxers (a task that, thankfully, he had been able to perform without assistance) and covered in the thick blankets from his bed. When McCoy walked out of the bathroom with a loaded hypo in his hand, Jim was staring up at him from his wool and cotton cocoon. He looked absolutely miserable.

"What's wrong with me?" he said hoarsely.

"You have a cold, genius," he said as he pulled the blankets aside briefly to allow his hand access to Jim's neck. "And a nasty one at that. Which wouldn't have happened had you been taking better care of yourself."

"Ow!" he squawked as the hiss of the hypo being injected filled the room.

"Go to sleep," McCoy said. Jim's eyes were already blinking heavily from the sedative. "Someone will be by to check on you in a little bit."

"Mhmmmm."

Hearing Jim's breathing even out, he stood up straight. His back popped loudly and he winced. He carefully ran his eyes up and down Jim's face. Seeing no causes for concern, he headed out the door.

/

Once he returned to the Medbay, the next few hours had flown by. Scotty, apparently, had had some of the engineers tinkering on some parts of the ship's systems. Which had resulted in a few injuries. All minor, aside from Ensign Gregson, who had a nasty laceration down the entirety of his left calf. It had taken awhile to control the bleeding enough to get a few passes of the dermal regenerator. The ensign was now sleeping soundly, Scotty sitting in a chair next to the bed. His leg was bouncing up and down worriedly, despite the fact that McCoy had assured him the man was going to be perfectly fine.

He glanced at his watch with a sigh before returning to his examination of Lieutenant Hoden's ankle.

Jim being sick was not an uncommon occurrence. Back in their academy days, McCoy had spent one week or two out of every year dealing with a sick Jim. Sick Jim was the worst kind of Jim, in his professional opinion. Usually, he bitched and moaned and basically just annoyed the hell of McCoy. Sometimes though, like winter of their second year together, it hadn't just been a cold like Jim had insisted. McCoy had spent the entirety of his Winter Break at the hospital, monitoring Jim's treatment for pneumonia in both of his lungs.

Jim would be _fine. _It was just a cold this time. He'd checked so himself. But…

He shook his head. He knew he was worrying senselessly.

"Why didn't you just have him brought here?" Christine asked beside him. He glanced up at her, his eyebrows narrowed.

"What?"

"_Jim,_" she elaborated with a small smile. "I can tell you are anxious to go check on him. You should have just brought him here so you could keep an eye on him."

"It was just a cold, Chapel. I couldn't risk him infecting the other patients with it or vice versa. He's fine."

That line fell flat even to McCoy's own ears.

Christine smiled at him again.

"I'll call Spock and have him go check on him for you," she said. McCoy frowned and nodded, knowing that that would lessen at least some of his worry. He went about the monitoring of his patients. He made Scotty leave after telling him once again the Gregson was going to be okay as soon as he woke up. Scotty had left begrudgingly. He ate some of the lunch Christine had had a yeoman bring him. "Some" being only the one bite he could take before Spock's voice was ringing out through Medbay.

"Spock to Dr. McCoy."

He got up and quickly hit the button on the wall.

"Spock? What's wrong?"

"The Captain is dying."

McCoy rolled his eyes before letting his head drop to his chest. After his heart momentarily seized, that is. Jim had a flair for the dramatics when he was sick and a penchant for over exaggerating.

"Mr. Spock, is that your observation or did he tell you that himself?

"He keeps repeating it to me. He is quite adamant, Doctor."

McCoy sighed.

He looked around the Medbay, now mostly clear of patients except the snoozing Gregson. Christine smiled at him before gesturing with her hands towards the door. Message received.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

/

"Bones."

"Bones."

"_Boooonnnneeesssss_."

"Bones, I'm dying."

"You wouldn't ignore a man on his deathbed would you?"

"Jim, if you don't go back to sleep, I'll go get Uhura to come stay with you instead."

Jim's mouth shut quickly at that, his lips twisting into an unmistakable pout.

"Get that look of your face, you are not a child," Bones continued to look sternly at him over the top of the PADD he was currently examining. Jim glared at him pointedly before turning his head to face the far wall. The silence did not last long.

"Spock and Uhura are fighting," Jim said, barely audible from the strained quality of his voice.

"Hmmmm," McCoy said distractedly, eyebrows moving together as he read over the report on the PADD. Jim sneezed violently into more tissues before continuing.

"I think Sulu wants to ask Lieutenant Dixon out."

"You don't say."

"And I think Chekov is in the Russian Mafia,"

"Chekov is not in the Russian Mafia, Jim," McCoy said, finally setting down the PADD.

"I know, I was just testing to see if you were listening."

McCoy rolled his eyes and went back to his report. Dr. Toll had put in requests for various new medications and McCoy was unsure how necessary they actually were. He'd have to ask him later, when he got a chance. Christine wanted another Nurse added to the Saturday morning Sick Call rotation. He could do that.

"What did you know about Lieutenant O'Reilly?" Jim said quietly, causing McCoy to look back up at him. He frowned, racking his memory to place the name. Finally, realization hit.

"That guy that died in the explosion a few weeks back?" Jim nodded. McCoy shook his head.

"Nothing. I mean, I remember he was perfectly healthy the last time he came in a physical but I don't think that's what you're asking," McCoy said.

Jim flipped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't best friends with Jim Kirk for years without picking up on the tell-tale subtleties that spoke volumes.

"Jim, don't do that to yourself," McCoy finally said. Jim turned his head slightly, looking at McCoy. He looked miserable. His face was pale, but is nose was bright red and rubbed raw. He sniffed loudly.

"Do what?"

McCoy ignored his question and continued.

"It makes sense why you're sick, now. I bet you've been beating yourself up over that man's death since it happen. Skipping meals, not sleeping, pulling a classic Jim Kirk and not taking care of yourself. Your body couldn't take it." Jim didn't say anything, his jaw clenching as he stared at the ceiling; the closest thing he was going to get to a confession.

"Stop blaming yourself, Jim. There was nothing you could have done, there was nothing _anyone_ could have done. It was an accident," McCoy said.

"I sent that man to his death, Bones," Jim looked at him sadly. "I told the landing party to investigate the cave. I screwed up."

"Okay, you screwed up," McCoy said simply. "But, it happens. You're a Captain of a Starship, Jim, of course there are going to be times things don't go according to plan."

Jim was quiet for a few minutes after that, still staring at the ceiling. McCoy let him be, going back to his report. Jim was a stupid, self-loathing, idiot. Worrying himself sick over a death that he'd barely had a hand in. Classic Jim Kirk.

Truly, though. O'Reilly had died due to a weird gas build up on a planet they knew next to nothing about. By the time McCoy and the rest of the medical team had beamed down, the man was already gone. Fortunately, the rest of the party escaped with a various broken bones and scrapes.

McCoy internally berated himself. How could have missed this? He talked to Jim almost everyday. He should have noticed something was off. Either he was starting to slip in his observation skills or Jim was just getting better had hiding it. Neither option was particularly comforting.

Jim sneezed again, a loud, rough, sneeze that seemed to shake his entire being. He groaned.

"God, I feel like shit," he muttered. McCoy nodded.

"I bet. You want some soup?" Jim shook his head. McCoy stared at him a minute.

"So. What are Spock and Uhura fighting about?" he finally asked. He knew Jim was bored. He was a restless person by nature. An action guy. He needed to moving or talking or doing _something _almost constantly. McCoy knew that being confined to a bed was probably killing him. He smirked when Jim turned to face him, his eyes wide as he began the story.

"Well, Uhura thinks that Spock is sexist."

McCoy raised an eyebrow at that. He'd never heard that about the Vulcan before and actually had a hard time buying it.

"She tell you this herself?" McCoy asked.

Uhura and Jim's relationship could only be described as "hit or miss". Either they were thick as thieves or were moments away from strangling one another. Usually, they would switch between the two modes sporadically throughout the day, leaving McCoy and the rest of the crew to try and keep up. No matter how close Uhura would sometimes become with Jim, though, she was not one to share her problems openly. Ever. Guilt flashed in Jim's eyes.

"Not _exactly,_" he said.

"Yeah, I figured. Go on."

McCoy listened to Jim tell his story until a chorus of sneezes interrupted his raspy words. He fell back against the bed with a groan. McCoy frowned.

"Okay, enough chit chat. You're going to sleep," he said as he stood up. Before Jim could even protest, or begin to process what was happening fully, McCoy had pulled a hypo out of his pocket. When it hissed after being released Jim only glared at him.

"You're a cruel man, Dr. McCoy."

McCoy laughed.

"Come on Jim, a little suffering is good for the soul."

/

**Author's Note:**

Ah! He said the thing! I love making Bones say the thing. Happy you are all enjoying your time with this story. I love the reviews so keep'em coming. Also, don't forget: if you have an idea for chapter just let me know and I'll see if I can work it in. As of right now, there will be around 60 chapters to this (24 of which are written already), but, I keep adding new chapter ideas weekly, so who knows. Maybe this story will never end. (Dun. Dun. DUUUUUUUUN.) Thanks to Amanda for Beta reading and all of you who have favorited this story. You = Awesome.

Oh. P.S., the part about Spock and Uhura having a fight? And Scotty worrying about someone named Gregson? And Lieutenant Dixon and Sulu? Remember those things. They'll be important for your quest later.

-Ashley

_Up Next: Not a Child._


	8. Not a Child

Not a Child

With its penchant for running into the impossible on its way to the amazing (after making a quick pit stop at the extraordinary), the _USS Enterprise_ was an exciting ship to be on. Their lives were hectic, chaotic and downright insane. Sometimes they went weeks without seeing their beds, forced to get any sleep they could in the form of quick cat-naps in whatever location they deemed fit and sneak in meals sporadically. Times like those, the _Enterprise _seemed to move at double speed. The crew got to see things that most people could never even dream of, go on adventures that would change the world, and make crucial advancements in a countless number of fields. But, occasionally, the people aboard Starfleet's flagship were forced to face a different kind of threat; one that, to some, was more terrifying than horrendous creatures or wayward missions. Every once in a blue moon, everything would come to a grinding halt as _boredom _fell upon the ship; it covered the place like a heavy blanket, making everyone feel as if they were being suffocated by the weight of it.

After a record-setting two weeks of absolute peace and quiet, everyone was starting to get anxious. They were jittery and restless. They weren't used to so much tranquility. Even Dr. McCoy, who bitterly complained to anyone who would listen that he hated the too-exciting life he was forced to live as CMO on the ship ("People my age shouldn't have gray hair already, dammit!"), was not immune to the mood that descended the crew. He'd already finished any and all task in his Medbay (including physical and psychological evaluations for the next three months, inventory, emergency drills, inventory again, reading the medical journals he hadn't been able to in years, and inventory a third time) when he'd received a message from Jim, informing him of a meeting for all officers, he'd been greatly relieved for the distraction. Stuck in his office with nothing to do, he had caught himself actually _wishing_ for Jim to call him. He could practically hear his best friend's voice filled with excitement, telling him they were headed into another cockamamie adventure, asking him to come along even though he had no business being there. And Jim would look at him with those damn puppy-dog eyes that reminded him so much a Joanna, he'd say yes. He'd shook his head and read the message. Spock was running the meeting, with the objective being to review the ship's seemingly infinite list of rules and guidelines. It was mandatory, unless you had a viable excuse. Casting his eyes around the office, searching for anything that remotely resembled his ticket out of dodge but finding none. It was a sign of how bored he truly, truly was that there was an absent of sarcasm or annoyance in his response to Jim, confirming his presence at the meeting.

Now, listening to the First Officer's dull monotone drag on and on about Standard Operating Procedures, he was deeply regretting not coercing one the nurses to fake an illness and act as his excuse. Right now the only thing getting him through this was the promise of the (not-so-illegal, more-like-frowned-upon) Romulan Ale Scotty had invited him to sample tonight in his quarters. He let his fingers tap lightly against his thigh, needing to busy his hands lest they find their way around a certain Vulcan's throat. He'd just turned his eyes to examine the oak table they were seated around to assess the amount of damage he'd incur slamming his head repeatedly into it, when the PADD sitting in front of him flickered awake. He grabbed it, eyebrows drawing together when the display told him he had a new message from Jim Kirk. He glanced two seats to his left, where Jim was sitting, leaning his head on one hand as he stared at Spock, his PADD in his lap. McCoy quickly opened the message.

_Do you think I should tell Spock his fly is totally undone?_

He looked at the head of the room again, where Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back in unnerving professionalism, and bit back a laugh. The Vulcan's pants were indeed unzipped. He glanced at Jim again and caught his eye, the corners of the captain's mouth twitching before he was back to staring at Spock with rapt attention. McCoy grinned wickedly before pulling up the sketching program he'd added a while back. He let the stylus pen he had with him fly across the screen, Spock's voice fading as he drew. Five minutes later he hit 'enter', sending his masterpiece to Jim. It showed Spock, cheeks tinted Vulcan-green with embarrassment, hastily zipping his pants. The speech bubble above his head read "Pants are most illogical". He watched covertly from his seat as Jim opened the file on his PADD. He smiled smugly when Jim turned to him, grinning and lightly shaking his head. A few seconds later his screen flashed another message.

_Do someone else._

McCoy looked around the large room, choosing a victim. He spotted Sulu across from him, leaning back in his chair with his eyes glazed over. McCoy quickly turned to his PADD. Within a few moments, he drew a fairly accurate depiction of the helmsmen hugging a large, potted plant close to his chest. The caption read "Only you understand me, Plant." He sent it to Jim and beamed brightly when he heard a snort of laughter come from him. He managed to turn it into a cough after Uhura, sitting between the two, shot him a look. McCoy quickly feigned innocence when she turned her narrowed eyes on him next, pretending to be nodding thoughtfully at whatever Spock was saying. He glanced at her and saw that she was staring at him with eyebrows raised, her mouth a firm line of determination. Knowing she wasn't going to give up until she knew what had Jim laughing and McCoy grinning like the Cheshire Cat. McCoy looked to make sure no one was paying attention to them before flipping the PADD to face her, showing the picture of Sulu. Her face relaxed into a bemused smile when she looked at. She looked down the large table quickly before leaning towards him conspicuously.

"Do Chekov," she whispered.

McCoy raised an eyebrow, surprised at the normally by-the-book Lieutenant. He turned his chair to look at the small Russian, who was staring with large eyes at Spock, the PADD in front of filled with diligent notes. McCoy quickly started sketching. Finished, he elbowed Uhura and showed her the screen. It showed their Navigator standing atop the table they were all currently seated at, ripping off his regulation Starfleet uniform to reveal a red spandex suit with a Russian flag on it (cape included). Uhura quickly covered her mouth to stifle her giggle. When Jim turned towards the two of them questioningly, McCoy quickly sent him the drawing.

He couldn't contain his laughter this time. The whole room silenced and McCoy quickly shoved his PADD out of sight as every eye turned towards Jim. Busted.

"Is something the matter, Captain?" Spock asked from the front of the room, eyebrows knitted together. Kirk coughed a few times, regaining composure.

"Not at all, Mr. Spock. Please continue," he replied. Spock nodded before launching into his speech again.

As soon as everyone was looking away, Uhura silently kicked Kirk under the table. He turned to her, the shock on his face quickly turning into a smirk as he kicked her right back. She stared indignantly at him. McCoy double-checked no one was paying attention to the trio before leaning quietly over and flicking Uhura's left ear. She turned towards him, her mouth open in a surprised smile. McCoy raised his eyebrows, daring her to retaliate. She grinned before her hand quickly and efficiently moved and pinched him roughly in his side. He couldn't contain the sharp yelp he gave off. Spock's speech wavered slightly as he spared the doctor a glance, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Seeing McCoy's pained, surprised face, he stopped.

"Dr. McCoy, are you alright?" he asked. McCoy shot Uhura a glare.

"M'fine Spock," he shot roughly at the Vulcan. Spock stared at him for a moment longer, and then continued.

Uhura turned back, her head held high in unabashed pride. Jim faced his first officer again, the barest of smiles playing at the corners of his mouth. McCoy rubbed his side, positive he already felt a welt growing there. Picking up his PADD again, he bit his lip to keep from grinning as he started forming another picture, this time of Uhura.

The annoyed look Spock shot him ten minutes later when he yelled in pain made the ache in his ribs worth it. He guaranteed tomorrow he would find a bruise there in the perfect shape of their Communications Officer's fist.

/

Hey, did I tell you guys lately that you are great? I mean it. Just really swell. Hopefully you didn't feel McCoy was too out of character during this chapter- it sort of got away from me. As for Sulu and his love of plants...If you've ever watched TOS, there was one single episode where they showed that Sulu was an avid botanist. It never really came up again, but I can't get it out of my head that he just really, really, loves his plants. And, come on, you think that Chekov _doesn't_ wear that under his uniform? Thanks again to my Beta, Amanda and to everyone who has stuck with me. Until next week!

_Up next: Not a Character in a Horror Movie. _


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